'  This  is  his  picture^  really  and  truly.' 


MONSIEUR 
D'EN  BROCHETTE 


BEING 

An  Historical  Account  of  Some  of  the 
Adventures  of  Huevos  Pasada  Par  Agua, 
Marquis  of  Pollio  Grille,  Count  of  Pate 
de  Foie  Gras,  and  Much  Else  Besides. 

BY 

BERT    LESTON   TAYLOR 
:=•        •=& 
ARTHUR    HAMILTON   FOLWELL 

AND 

JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 
ILLUSTRATED  BY  FRANK  A.  NANKIVELL 


NEW     YORK 

M  C  M  V 
KEPPLER    &    SCHWARZMANN 


Copyright,  1905,  by  KEPPLER  &  SCHWARZMANN 


(Eontrnta 


I.      In   which  Count  Pat£  de  Foie  Gras  of  En 
Brochette  has  a  strange  adventure  with 
an  unknown  lady    .....          i 
II.      In  which  there  is  something  doing     .          .        17 

III.  In    which    I    get   out   of    a   well   and   into   a 

select  chateau          .          .         .         .         .31 

IV.  In  which   I  make  a  startling  discovery        .        45 
V.      In  which  the  hero  acquires  a  title      .          .        56 

VI.      In  which  there  are  dukes  and  dukes  .        67 

VII.      In     which     a    great    historical     mystery    is 

solved     .......        83 

VIII.     In    which    the  Chevalier    de   Brie   connects 

with  what  was  coming  to  him        .         .       96 
IX.     In  which  there  are  live  and  dead  ones       .      108 
X.      In  which  the  king  takes  a  hand          .          .122 
XI.      La  Beldam   Sans   Merci   and  La   Belle   Isa- 

belle 135 

XII.      In  which  there  are  doings  on  the  stair       .      148 
XIII.     In   which   Monsieur  d'en   Brochette  brings 
to  a  close  the  first  volume  of  his  incom 
parable  memoirs     .....      163 

XIII.     In  which  appear  two  portraits  plus  a  family 

heirloom          ......      169 

XIII.      In'  which  our  hero  sees  his  finish       .          .      174 


MONSIEUR   D'EN    BROCHETTE 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN  WHICH  COUNT  PATE  DE  FOIE  GRAS  OK  EN 

BROCHETTE  HAS  A  STRANGE  ADVENTURE 

WITH  AN  UNKNOWN  LADY. 

AT  twenty  minutes  past  eleven 
o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  fifth 
Monday  of  March,  1684,  anybody 
had  accosted  me  as  I  sat  in  the 
large  window  on  the  Rue  de  June 
Fourteenth  side  of  the  Cafe  D'CEuf,  in  the  fifteenth 
Arondissement  of  the  Quartier  Latin,  Paris,  France, 
and  offered  me  even  so  little  as  a  sou  for  my 
thoughts,  I  should,  on  my  honor  as  a  gentleman, 
have  closed  the  bargain  then  and  there  if  per 
chance  the  sale  were  for  ready  money,  for  to 
confess  the  sorry  truth,  I,  Huevos  Pasada  par 
Agua,  Count  of  Pate  de  Foie  Gras  and  Marquis 
Presumptive  of  the  Estates  of  Pollio  Grille  in 
Spain,  just  arrived  after  an  eventful  journey  from 
the  paternal  acres  of  En  Brochette,  had  naught 
within  my  purse,  nor  for  that  matter  in  the  saddle 
bags  resting  athwart  the  shoulders  of  my  tried 
and  trusty  steed  Gambetta,  now  restlessly  champ 
ing  his  crupper  buckle  in  full  view  of  the  merry 


•^   /Monsieur  fc'en  JBrocbeite.    ^ 

breakfasters  who  surrounded  me  on  all  sides, 
with  which  to  pay  the  reckoning  of  my  host.  I 
had  breakfasted  well,  as  the  small  slip  lying  upon 
the  immaculate  napery  before  me  attested,  call 
ing  as  it  did  for  an  immediate  payment  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty-seven  francs  thirty  centimes, 
without  taking  into  account  the  quartier  which 
Henri  the  affable  valet  de  place,  who  had  served 
me  well,  expected  to  receive  as  the  price  of  his 
good  will.  It  was  an  awkward  moment,  albeit 
not  unanticipated,  for  I  had  entered  the  place 
with  the  full  knowledge  that  save  my  wits  I  had 
nothing  with  which  to  square  the  account. 

I  had  hoped  when  the  demands  of  my 
appetite  —  I  had  eaten  nothing  since  leaving  the 
castle  ten  days  before  —  I  had  hoped,  I  say, 
when  the  demands  of  my  large  appetite  —  for  I 
was,  in  very  truth,  upon  the  verge  of  starvation 
from  so  long  an  abstinence  —  I  had  hoped,  I 
repeat,  that  by  the  time  my  hunger  was  ap 
peased,  by  playing  the  swashbuckler  I  could 
have  myself  summarily  ejected  from  the  cafe" 
without  being  called  upon  to  pay,  but  to  my 
consternation  my  boisterous  behavior  served  only 
to  increase  the  consideration  with  which  I  had 
already  been  received.  Nothing  that  I  could 
say  or  do  seemed  to  surprise  the  managers  or  the 
menials  of  the  eating  place.  I  had  declared  the 
wines  not  fit  to  drink.  I  had  thrown  the  Royal 


'/  had  run  the  head-waiter  through  with  my  rapier.''1 


•^    a  Strange  B&renture.    ^ 

Worcester  egg  cup  to  the  floor,  declaring  that 
eggs  should  be  eaten  only  from  Sevres  of  the 
resilience  of  cobwebs.  I  had  run  the  head-waiter 
through  with  my  rapier  and  wiped  the  blade 
upon  the  cloth  of  a  neighboring  table  at  which 
three  ladies  sat,  and  had  in  every  other  wise  done 
my  best  to  secure  my  forcible  removal,  but  in  vain. 
Each  roisterous  ebullition  but  served  to  show  me 
in  the  eyes  of  those  self-centered  people  to  be 
more  and  more  surely  a  gentleman  of  quality. 
It  did  not  seem  that  by  any  human  possibility  I 
could  escape  the  gendarmerie,  which  would  have 
been  fatal  to  my  hopes  and  ambitions,  for  it  was 
only  with  the  idea  that  I  might  some  day  be 
come  the  Captain  of  the  King's  Police  that  I  had 
come  to  Paris,  with  a  letter  to  rny  father's  old 
friend  Guillaume  De  Very,  who  held  that  exalted 
office  at  the  time  of  which  I  write.  I)e  Very 
and  my  father,  the  Sieur  de  Foie  Gras,  had  served 
together  in  many  a  bloody  campaign  under 
Charlemagne  and  Pepin  the  Little,  but  of  late 
years  they  had  drifted  apart,  and  though  the  old 
friendship  was  strong  and  had  been  kept  up  by 
correspondence,  the  two  had  not  seen  each  other 
since  the  Battle  of  Firenzi  in  the  War  of  the 
Tulips,  when  they  had  parted  just  before  the  final 
charge  which  placed  the  laurels  of  victory  upon 
the  banners  of  the  Due  de  Maitre  d'Hotel,  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  of  the  forces  of"  Pepin.  I  cud- 


•V    /Ifconsteur  D'en  JSrocbettc.    "V 

gelled  my  brain  for  some  ingenious  way  out  of 
my  present  scrape,  but  alas,  the  situation  grew 
more  complex  with  each  moment  of  reflection. 
To  gain  time  for  further  cogitation  I  called  Henri 
to  my  side  by  rapping  upon  the  window-sill  with 
my  dagger. 

"Another  platter  of  gateaux  des  pans"  I  cried. 
"And  have  them  better  done^than  the  last,  my 
man,  else  will  I  slit  thee  into  twins  with  this  — " 
tapping  the  hilt  of  my  rapier. 

As  I  spoke,  a  silvery  laugh,  unmistakably 
the  laugh  of  a  beautiful  blonde,  but  patrician 
withal,  as  I  could  tell  from  its  rippling  cadences, 
broke  upon  the  stillness  of  the  cafe  from  behind 
me.  Turning  quickly,  my  eyes  rested  upon  the 
most  beautiful  woman  I  had  ever  seen  —  her 
eyes  had  the  liquid  cerulean  tint  of  a  Mediter 
ranean  wave  charged  with  the  colors  of  heaven ; 
beside  her  lips  the  ripest  cherry  seemed  but  an  acid 
bit  of  saffron ;  her  profile  which  was  turned 
toward  me  suggested  the  supervision  of  the  sculp 
tor  of  the  Venus  of  Milo  when  the  gods  designed 
her  nose  and  brow  and  chin  —  for  the  rest,  since 
she  sat  at  table  I  could  but  divine  it,  yet  was  I 
confident  that  even  were  her  figure  that  of  some 
charwoman,  there  had  been  lavished  upon  her  face 
enough  of  beauty  to  blind  the  most  fastidious  to 
all  other  imperfections.  But  alas  !  All  this  beauty 
instead  of  thrilling  my  soul  with  happiness  turned 


^    B  Strange  BSvcnturc.    ^ 

to  gall  every  bit  of  sweetness  in  my  heart,  for  I 
perceived  at  once  that  her  laughter  had  been 
evoked  by  some  slighting  allusion  to  my  horse, 
Gambetta,  and  when  from  those  lips  there  dropped 
the  words  in  Spanish,  "  I  guess  he  's  faster  tied 
than  loose,"  my  rage  knew  no  bounds,  for  Gam 
betta  and  I  have  been  friends  these  many  years, 
bound  together  by  a  comradeship  beside  which 
the  vaunted  friendships  of  Peleas  and  Melisandre, 
Castor  and  Pollux — aye  of  Ossa  and  Pelion 
themselves  —  pale  into  coldness  —  mere  partner 
ships  into  which  the  affairs  of  the  heart  never 
enter.  My  rage  knew  no  bounds,  I  say,  and 
springing  to  my  feet  I  again  summoned  the 
waiter. 

"Henri  !"  I  cried,  with  that  haughty  arro 
gance  that  I  must  confess  becomes  me  well. 

"Si,  signer.  Oui,  Monsieur.  Yah,  Mein 
Herr.  Here,  sir,"  he  replied. 

"  My  card,  Henri  —  to  yonder  haughty 
beauty  —  ask  her  name,  or  better  the  name 
of  her  father,  her  brother,  her  lover,  her  fiance, 
her  attorney  —  any  man  of  prowess  to  whom  I 
may  throw  down  my  glove  demanding  satisfac 
tion  for  this  insult,"  I  cried  haughtily.  "  I  admit 
Gambetta's  faults,  but  he  shall  not  become  an 
object  of  ridicule  at  any  fair  lady's  hands,  how 
ever  beautiful.  His  spavins  have  been  earned  in 
valiant  service  to  his  master  and  his  King.  That 


^    dfoongieur  D'en  JBrocbctte.    -V 

glander  which  you  will  observe  behind  his  left 
ear  was  won  at  the  battle  of  Toulon.  The  pant 
which  affects  his  wind  is  but  the  badge  of  honor 
able  service  in  the  campaign  of  Suabia,  when  no 
less  a  personage  than  Henri  of  Navarre  asked 
'Whose  horse  is  that?'  The  Dauphin  himself 
is  more  secure  to-day  for  my  beloved  Gambetta's 
existence,  and  I  should  be  but  a  churl  were  I 
to  permit  the  smile  of  scorn  to  be  pointed  in  his 
direction.  My  card,  Henri  !  My  card  !  " 

With  this  I  drew  myself  up  proudly  and  felt 
for  my  card  case. 

//  was  gone.  I  had  been  robbed  —  but  I 
had  taken  my  stand,  and  a  Pate  de  Foie  Gras  is 
not  lightly  to  be  swerved  from  his  purpose,  espe 
cially  in  the  presence  of  women.  My  eye  lighted 
upon  the  check  lying  upon  the  table,  and  the 
solution  of  my  difficulties  was  before  me.  Hastily 
scribbling  my  full  name  and  title  on  the  back  of 
the  slip  I  handed  it  to  Henri. 

"  For  the  lady,  Henri,"  I  muttered.  "And 
wait  for  an  answer." 

Henri  immediately  took  the  check  on  his 
silver  tray  and  handed  it  to  the  beautiful  unknown, 
who  with  a  gesture  of  scorn  wrote  her  initials 
upon  it. 

"  Certainly,"  I  heard  her  say.  "  Certainly, 
Henri,  if  the  gentleman  wishes  it.  Have  it 
charged  to  my  account." 


^    a  Strange  BDventure.    -^ 

"  Sapristi !"  I  cried  in  my  wrath  at  this 
additional  insult.  "  Shall  I,  Robert  Gaston  cle 
Launay  Alphonse,  Count  de  Foie  Gras,  and  heir 
presumptive  to  the  Marquisate  of  Huevos  Pasada 
par  Agua  and  the  Estates  of  Pollio  Grille  of 
Spain,  be  thus  affronted  by  a  mere  chit  of  a 
woman,  who  first  laughs  at  my  horse  and  then 
presumes  to  pay  my  score  for  breakfast  ?  Ja- 
mais !  Never.  Non-non.  Oest  impossible" 

With  this  I  turned  my  eyes  full  upon  the 
arrogant  beauty  and  addressed  her  as  follows  : 

"  Madame,  you  are  a  woman  —  I  am  a  man, 
therefore  to  cross  swords  with  you  is  impossible. 
Nevertheless  you  have  seen  fit  to  flout  my  horse 
—  my  poor  but  honest  steed  Gambetta,  who  for 
forty  years  has  served  my  father  and  myself,  and 
for  twenty  years  before  that  did  yeoman's  service 
at  the  plough  of  my  grandfather,  Gaston,  Comte 
de  Ris  de  Veau,  Due  de  Nesselrode,  and  Grand 
Seigneur  of  the  province  of  Petit  Pois.  Not  con 
tent  with  this,  Madame,,  you  have  treated  con 
temptuously  me,  the  Count  of  Pate  de  Foie  Gras, 
who  have  measured  foils  with  the  proudest  gen 
tlemen  of  France,  and  have  taken  up  the  gaunt 
let  in  many  a  tourney  in  which  the  hands  of 
fairer  maids  than  thou  were  the  prize  of  him  who 
by  his  valiant  lance  should  prove  himself  worthy 
of  them.  I  am  poor,  but  I  am  still  a  gentleman, 
and  such  insults  may  not  go  unavenged.  I  there- 


^    /Monsieur  fc'en  JSrocbette.    if 

fore  ask  you,  Madame,  for  the  name  —  the  name 
and  address  —  of  some  one,  some  man  to  whom 
I  may  go  to  seek  redress.  And  have  a  care, 
Madame,  that  your  choice  be  not  lightly  made, 
for  I  am  an  En  Brochette  whose  sword  is  no 
plaything ;  but  a  blade  so  keen  it  pierces  ere  it 
strikes." 

The  proud  beauty  drew  herself  up  haughtily. 

"You  have  addressed  these  words  to  me, 
M'sieur  ?"  she  said. 

"To  you,  Madame.  Despite  thy  beauty, 
my  rage  knows  no  bounds,  and  if  thy  father,  or 
thy  brother,  or  thy  fiance,  or  thy  attorney,  be  a 
gentleman,  he  will  not  deny  me  satisfaction." 

At  this  point  I  drew  myself  erect  into  an 
attitude  of  hauteur  which  reminded  me  forcibly 
of  the  portraits  of  my  ancestor  Cela  Va  Sans  Dire, 
the  noble  Touranian  who  fought  so  valiantly 
under  Philip  of  Spain,  whence  came  our  title  to 
the  Huevos  Pasada  par  Agua  estates.  A  mur 
mur  of  admiration  burst  instinctively  from  all 
parts  of  the  breakfast  room,  and  I  could  see  too 
that  the  fair  woman  to  whom  my  words  were 
addressed  was  stirred  to  the  depths  of  her  being, 
for  her  cheeks  mantled  with  the  rich  crimson  of 
her  patrician  blood,  and  the  bursting  of  a  button 
from  the  wrist-band  of  her  dainty  glove  showed 
that  her  pulses  were  beating  madly. 

"It  is  true  that  I  am  a  woman,"  she  replied, 


•^    a  Strange  a&venture.    ^ 

dreamily.  "  Monsieur,  I  have  scoffed  at  your 
horse,  and  vised  your  breakfast  bill,  and  I  pre 
sume  I  owe  you  satisfaction.  I  have  no  father 
who  is  an  adept  at  the  foils.  My  brother  is 
bottled  up  at  Tokio  with  Richard  Coeur  de 
Davis  and  other  Crusaders.  I  may  not  give  you 
the  name  of  my  fiance  for  I  fear  you  would  kill 
him,  which,  it  being  the  dearest  wish  of  my  heart 
that  some  one  should  spit  him  well  ere  our  wed 
ding  day  on  Tuesday  next,  would  be  the  equiva 
lent  of  murder.  I  can  think  of  but  one  sword  in 
France,  then,  that  is  worthy  to  champion  my 
cause.  The  name  of  its  wielder  is  there  !  " 

With  that  she  rose  from  her  table  and, 
throwing  a  card  at  my  feet,  swept  majestically 
from  the  room.  As  she  disappeared  through  the 
doorway  I  leaned  over  to  pick  up  the  fallen  card, 
for,  by  my  faith,  so  beautiful  she  was  I  could  not 
take  my  eyes  from  off  her  sweet  self  before  that. 
One  glance  at  the  name  sent  me  staggering  to 
the  wall. 

//  was  my  own  ! 

"Check,  sir,"  said  Henri,  as  I  started  for 
the  door. 

"Can't  you  see,  fool,  it  is  initialed?"  I 
retorted,  thrusting  the  fellow  aside.  "  Charge  it, 
as  you  have  already  been  commanded." 

With  these  words  I  rushed  to  the  curb  and 
leaped  blindly  for  the  saddle  and  Gambetta's 


"V    dbonsteur  £>'en  JBroctjette.    -y 

back,  but  the  horse  had  been  taken  away  and  I 
landed  in  much  disorder  in  the  middle  of  the 
street. 


CHAFFER   II. 
IN  WHICH  THERE  is  SOMETHING  DOING. 

IHE  RKADER  of  these  imperishable 
memoirs  will  recall  that  Chapter 
One  left  me  lying  on  my  back  in  the 
streets  of  Paris,  a  fraction  of  a  kilo 
metre  from  the  doors  of  the  Cafe 
D'Oeuf.  For  a  moment,  M'sieurs,  I  was  stunned 
by  the  fall,  but  youth  crushed  to  earth  shall  rise 
again,  and  presently  I  was  on  my  feet  taking 
account  of  stock.  Alas,  the  inventory  was  but  a 
light  one.  I,  Robert  Gaston  de  Launay,  Count 
of  Pate  de  Foie  Gras  and  Marquis  Presumptive  of 
the  Estates  of  Pollio  Grille  in  Spain,  was  bereft 
of  my  card  case  and  my  beloved  horse  Gam- 
betta;  yet  did  I  still  have  my  health  and  my 
long  sword  and  my  family  name  that  was  longer 
still.  Priceless  possessions,  with  which  I  might 
conquer  the  world ! 

The  loss  of  Gambetta  (who,  I  afterward 
ascertained,  had  been  corralled  by  La  Societe 
Prevenir  Cruciate  d'  Animals}  was  swiftly  repaired. 
A  handsome  red  mare  stood  tethered  before  the 
cafe.  I  scribbled  my  I.  O.  U.  for  the  price  of 
the  beast,  which  I  estimated  at  thirty  francs, 

'7 


•^    /ifconstcui  fc'cn  JBrocbctte.    ^» 

nailed  the  scrap  of  paper  with  my  dagger  to  the 
cafe  door,  flung  myself  into  the  stirrups  and  gal 
loped  away,  my  bridle  hand  resting  lightly  on 
the  pommel  of  my  saddle. 

Parblen !  you  exclaim.  Why  this  detail? 
M'sieurs,  I  am  particular  to  mention  the  dis 
position  of  my  bridle  hand,  for  had  it  not  rested 
as  I  have  described  for  you,  the  map  of  Europe 
would  not  be  colored  as  it  is  to-day,  nor  would  I, 
Robert  Gaston  de  Launay  Alphonse,  etc.,  have 
—  But  ma  foi !  I  am  anticipating  the  last  chap 
ter.  This,  then,  M'sieurs,  is  what  befell  :  As  I 
clattered  down  the  long  hill  beyond  Lyonnaise, 
ten  leagues  from  Paris,  my  bridle  hand  in  some 
manner  pressed  a  spring  in  the  saddle's  pommel, 
and  this,  opening,  disclosed  a  secret  recess  in 
which  reposed  a  letter  and  a  handful  of  bank 
notes.  One  glance  at  the  inscription  and  all  my 
wild  Brochette  blood  surged  madly  to  my  brain  ; 
for  the  name  was  none  other  than  that  of  the 
powerful  Duke  des  Pommes  de  Terre  au  Gratin  ! 

"Diable/"  I  murmured.  "A  conspiracy 
against  the  King!  Count  Pate  de  Foie  Gras, 
your  fortune  is  already  made !  " 

A  thud  of  hoofs  behind  me  caused  me  to 
glance  back,  and  I  discerned  a  horseman  dash 
ing  down  the  hill  in  a  great  cloud  of  dust. 
Drawing  rein  I  awaited  his  approach  with  my 
customary  sang  froid,  and  presently  found  my- 

18 


^    Something  Doing,    ^r 

self  confronting  a  much  agitated  young  man  in 
blue  velvet. 

"My  horse!"  he  cried,  leveling  a  passionate 
finger  at  the  red  mare.  "Rascal!  My  horse!" 
"  Not  another  franc,"  I  returned  firmly.  For 
answer  he  flung  my  I.  ().  II.  in  my  face.  "S" 
death!"  I  roared,  my  temper  giving  away.  "The 
paper  of  a  Foie  (Iras  has  never  before  gone  to 
protest.  Draw,  shrimp  !" 

I  leaped  lightly  to  the  ground,  threw  off  my 
cloak  and  hat  and  unfastened  my  pourpoint,  the 
young  man  in  blue  velvet  following  suit. 

"  M'sieur,"  I  remarked,  as  I  tested  the  edge 
of  my  blade  on  my  thumb-nail,  "  I  fancy  a  more 
secluded  spot  for  this  encounter,  preferably  one 
sheltered  from  the  cold  north  wind  by  a  high 
wall  and  screened  from  the  vulgar  observation  of 
the  passers-by.  However,  I  observe  you  are  in 
haste,  and  myself  am  in  some  hurry  to  be  gone, 
and  so — have  at  you  !  " 

The  blades  kissed  sibilantly,  and  —  poof! 
it  was  really  nothing  at  all.  Three  passes  and  I 
had  him  spitted,  and  he  expired  almost  instantly. 
Poor  fool  !  to  measure  his  feeble  steel  against  the 
best  swordsman  in  all  France.  I  tossed  the 
body  into  the  bushes  and  went  on  my  way. 

I  had  killed  the  messenger  to  the  Duke  des 
Pommes  de  Terre  au  Gratin,  and  I,  Count  Pate 
de  Foie  Gras,  was  become  the  messenger.  My 


^    /fconsieur  fc'cn  JBrocbette.    ^ 

course  was  plain.  I  should  deliver  the  letter  to 
the  Duke,  and  thus  become  a  part  of  the  con 
spiracy.  All  else  was  as  heaven  willed. 

But  what  of  the  beautiful  blonde  unknown 
who  had  vised  my  breakfast  bill  at  the  Cafe 
D'Oeuf?  In  my  haste  to  leave  Paris  I  had  for 
the  nonce  forgotten  her,  and  now  the  memory  of 
her  exquisite  face  swept  over  me  a  tidal  wave  of 
passion.  A  few  hours  ago  I  was  penniless;  now 
I  tapped  the  banknotes  in  my  pocket — I  was 
ready  money.  Until  I  had  repaid  my  divinity 
her  trifling  loan  of  two  hundred  and  fifty-seven 
francs  thirty  centimes,  not  forgetting  the  qttartier 
for  Henri  the  affable  ralct  de  place,  I  could 
not,  as  a  gentleman  and  a  Brochette,  declare 
my  passion,  a  passion  that  flamed  and  crackled 
with  every  recollection  of  the  details  of  her  in 
comparable  loveliness.  For  you  must  know, 
M'sieurs,  that  we  of  Brochette  are  as  very  tinder 
to  the  smiles  of  a  beautiful  woman.  For  two 
sous  I  would  have  abandoned  the  adventure 
into  which  fate  had  thrown  me  and  returned 
to  Paris ;  but  one  thing  decided  me  to  go  on  — 
I  was  enormously  hungry,  and  the  lights  of 
Croquante  were  even  now  shooting  out  of  the 
eastern  dusk. 

I  flung  into  the  Pousse  Cafe,  on  the  far 
edge  of  the  village,  with  so  much  arrogance  that 
the  entire  machinery  of  the  place  was  instantly 


^»    Something  2>otng.    ^ 

at  my  command.  I  was,  as  I  have  said,  enor 
mously  hungry,  and  I  had  cached  six  capons, 
a  shoulder  of  mutton  and  ten  bottles  of  wine 
before  1  lifted  my  head  from  my  work,  attracted 
by  the  bustle  of  a  fresh  arrival  in  the  street 
before  the  cafe.  A  coupe  was  drawn  up  at  the 
curb,  and  from  it  alighted  —  mon  Dieit !  scarcely 
could  I  credit  my  eyes  —  the  haughty  blonde  of 
the  Cafe  D'Oeuf  !  She  was  followed  by  a  man 
of  distinguished  bearing  and  exceedingly  sour 
visage,  who  had  a  pretty  trick  of  gnawing  his 
under  lip  with  his  gleaming  white  teeth.  I  rose 
as  the  party  entered  the  cafe,  and  with  a  sweep 
ing  bow,  "Madame,"  I  said,  '-it  was  your  treat 
this  morning.  Permit  me  to  set  'em  back." 

The  lady  drew  herself  up  haughtily,  then 
suddenly  yielded  to  a  tinkling  merriment,  while 
her  companion  rapped  out  an  oath,  scowling  hor 
ribly  meanwhile. 

"Venire  c/iat  noir !"  said  he.  "Who  is 
your  foolish  friend  ?  " 

Before  the  lady  could  reply  I  flung  the 
name  full  in  his  face  : 

"R-r-robert    daston    de    Launay   Alphonse, 
Count    Pate    de    Foie    Gras,    and   Marquis  — 
Shall   I    continue,    M'sieur?" 

"No  —  Tcutre  chat  noir .' —  no,"  he  bel 
lowed,  fishing  out  his  card  case.  "Ma  foi, 
M'sieur,  your  name  is  as  long  as  your  nose." 


•^    /iftcmsieur  fc'en  JBrccbette.    "V 

As  he  spoke   he  handed  me  his  card,  and  with 
difficulty  I  repressed  a  start  as  I  read  : 

"  Gaspard  Henri  Pierre,  Duke  des  Pommes 
de  Terre  au  Gratin.  Tlnirsdays  from  2  p.  m.  to 
quarter  past  four.''' 

"M'sieur  is  pleased  to  allude  to  my  nose," 
I  said,  twisting  the  bit  of  pasteboard  between 
my  fingers.  "M'sieur  will  find  my  sword  even 
longer." 

"  Parbleu  !  as  you  will,"  replied  the  Duke 
indifferently,  putting  on  his  hat. 

"Oh  inercif"  sighed  the  lady  with  a  pretty 
moue.  "Cannot  we  dine  first?  I  am  frightfully 
off  a  we'-" 

"Business  before  pleasure,  chere  Isabelle," 
replied  the  Duke  grumbling.  "Come,  M'sieur!" 

As  I  bowed  and  prepared  to  follow,  a  light 
hand  on  my  arm  detained  me,  and  I  looked  into 
the  heavenly  blue  orbs  of  Isabelle. 

"Beware  the  Duke,  my  brave  Brochette," 
she  whispered  swiftly.  "He  is  un  craqueur- 
jacque." 

I  pressed  her  hand  and  with  a  heart  beat 
ing  in  wild  joy  followed  my  adversary  from  the 
cafe. 

The  secluded  spot  chosen  for  the  meeting 
was  precisely  to  my  fancy.  A  high  wall  shel 
tered  us  from  the  cold  north  wind,  and  the 
ground  was  firm  and  smooth.  Every  facility 


^    Something  JDoinc?,    ^ 

for  a  first  -  class  encounter  was  present.  The 
Duke's  countenance  expressed  the  utmost  in 
difference,  whilst  my  own  agitation  proceeded 
wholly  from  the  thrilling  handclasp  of  the  beau 
teous  Isahelle. 

"A  la  carte,  I  suppose,"  I  remarked  care 
lessly.  The  Duke  bowed,  with  a  bored  expres 
sion,  and  the  supple  rapiers  joined. 

The  Duke  ventured  a  small  order  a  la 
carfe,  but  so  swiftly  did  1  fill  it  that  he  was 
compelled  to  throw  himself  back  to  avoid  the 
lightning  play  of  my  point.  The  bored  expres 
sion  vanished  from  his  face,  for  at  cnce  he  dis 
cerned  that  he  was  up  against  it,  as  we  of 
Brochette  have  the  saying.  He  next  essayed 
a  thrust  in  tierce,  and  as  I  met  this  as  promptly 
I  heard  him  mutter  between  his  set  teeth: 
"Tierce,  idle  tierce  ! " 

As  for  myself  1  was  never  more  at  mine 
ease.  I  was  gay  even,  and  hummed  a  ProveiiQal 
ballad  as  I  felt  with  my  point  for  various  parts 
of  my  adversary's  anatomy.  Seeing  that  I  was 
his  master  at  fence  he  played  his  last  card,  the 
secret  thrust  of  Girolamo  of  Naples.  I  laughed 
as  I  parried  it,  for  was  it  not  I  that  had  taught 
Girolamo  the  stroke  ?  With  an  oath  the  Duke 
leaped  back  and  blew  thrice  upon  a  silver 
whistle. 

"Traitor!"     I     cried,    but    got    no    farther. 


^    dfoongieur  D'en  JSrocbettc.    -y* 

There  was  a  rush  of  feet  behind  me,  a  heavy 
blow  descended  on  my  head,  and  the  subse 
quent  proceedings  interested  me  no  more. 

When  I  was  again  able  to  sit  up  and  take 
notice,  I  found  myself  in  Cimmerian  darkness, 
the  lower  half  of  my  body  lying  in  water. 
Dazed  though  I  was,  I  was  able  to  reflect 
that  had  the  position  of  my  body  been  re 
versed  my  condition  would  have  been  even  less 
satisfactory.  I  put  out  a  hand  and  touched  a 
wall  of  stone,  overgrown  with  moss. 

"Ma  foi  !"  I  murmured,  sizing  up  the  un 
pleasant  situation,  "  >na  foi  f"  they  have  thrown 
me  into  a  well !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

IN  WHICH  I  GET   OUT  OF  A  WKI.L  AND  INTO  A 
SELECT  CHATEAU. 

\A  FO1 7"  1  murmured  again,  as  the 
well-water  drenched  me  to  the 
bone;  "but  had  I  here  His  Grace, 
Gaspard  Henri  Pierre,  Duke  des 
Pommes  de  Terre,  right  cheerfully 
would  I  spit  him  thrice." 

So  hot  for  revenge,  indeed,  was  I  ;  so  das 
tardly  had  been  the  trick  which  the  Duke  and 
his  minions  had  served  me,  that,  verily,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  well,  then  and  there  would  I 
have  gotten  up  and  gone  in  frothing  search  of 
my  assailant. 

Still  hot,  I  gathered  my  wits  about  me. 
Where  was  1  ?  Down  a  well.  What,  then,  to 
do,  I  soliloquized.  Should  I  yell  and  rouse  some 
slumbering  lout  ?  A  de  Foie  Gras  yell  ?  Diable  ! 
Absurd  !  Then,  of  a  sudden,  it  occurred  to  me, 
and  I  laughed  —  the  debonair,  care-free  laugh  of 
the  Cafe  D'CEuf.  It  being  a  well,  someone  in 
good  season  would  come  to  it  and  lower  the 
bucket.  Le  sublime  et  le  beau  !  Composing  my 
self,  I  dozed. 

3' 


^    ASonsieur  yen  JBrocbette.    *&• 

How  long  I  slept,  I  know  not.  But  it  was 
dawn  of  day  when  the  bucket  with  a  vicious 
swoop  descended  and  struck  me  fairly  on  the 
head.  With  an  oath,  I  awoke.  'T  was  a  beard 
less  youth  who  had  lowered  it  and  thrusting  his 
face  beyond  the  well  curb's  edge,  he  ejaculated : 

"  Say  ! " 

A  strange  way,  M'sieurs,  to  address  a  de 
Foie  Gras,  but  I  swallowed  the  affront  and  cried 
in  answer  : 

"What?" 

"I  bring  a  message  for  Robert  Gaston  de 
Launay  Alphonse,  Count  de  Foie  Gras.  Is 
M'sieur  it  ?  " 

The  dialect  of  the  youth  was  strange  and 
new  to  me  and  yet  mine  own  name  and  title  right 
readily  did  I  recognize. 

"Pull  up,  boy,"  I  commanded,  my  being 
thrilled  with  wonder  at  what  the  message  might 
be.  "Haul  up  on  yonder  diablish  rope  and  haul 
carefully  or,  body  of  Saint  Louis,  your  skull  shall 
pay  for  it." 

"Z,e  message  est  collect,  M'sieur,"  grinned  the 
youth  above  me.  "  Put  three  francs  fifty  cen 
times  in  the  bucket  first  or  I  '11  throw  the  mes 
sage  down.  Voyez  !  " 

Sapristi !  For  half  a  sou  I  would  have 
cracked  his  surly  crown ;  but  what  was  I  to  do, 
being  in  the  well?  Cursing  roundly,  I  threw  a 

32 


i I  saw  with  a  thrill  a  perfumed  note." 


*y*    ©ut  cf  a  Well    ^ 

bedraggled  bank  note  in  the  bucket  and  watched 
him  pull  it  up. 

"  M'sieur  le  Count  is  nn  marque  facile"  he 
gleefully  chirped,  on  seizing  the  note.  "And 
now,  M'sieur,  for  the  rescue." 

Down  came  the  bucket  again,  and  this  time 
the  rascal  wound  lustily  at  the  rope  till  I  neared 
the  curb.  Then,  fearing  my  avenging  hand,  as 
—  Ma  foi !  —  he  had  cause  to  —  he  darted  off 
hot  foot,  leaving  his  chapeau  behind  him  on 
the  dewy  grass. 

I  looked  at  it  and  read  across  the  band  : 
''Croquante  District  Telegraphe  79,"  but  I  gave 
it  but  an  instant's  attention,  for  close  to  the  well- 
curb,  stuck  upright  in  the  soft,  moist  earth,  was 
as  brave  a  rapier  as  gallant  would  wish  to  handle, 
and  tied  to  its  diamond-studded  hilt,  I  saw  with 
a  thrill  a  perfumed  note. 

"From  Isabelle  !"  rapturously  I  cried,  seiz 
ing  the  note  and  kissing  it  a  thousand  times. 
What  cared  I  for  the  night  in  the  well?  What, 
for  the  varlet  of  a  boy  ?  What,  for  my  dripping 
raiment?  Naught,  thrice  naught  !  Isabelle,  the 
beauteous,  the  adorable,  the  incomparable,  had 
given  me  her  love. 

I  opened  the  note  and  hurriedly  scanned  it. 
Parblcit .'  It  was  unsigned  and  unfinished,  but 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  hand,  the  delicately 
feminine  hand. 

35 


T?    dfconsieur  fc'en  JBvocbettc.    -y 

"From  Isabelle!"  I  cried  again,  and  with 
beating  heart  read  as  follows  : 

"Mv  BRAVK  BROCHETTE:  — 

I  followed  you  from  the  Inn  last  night  and  saw  and  heard 
all.  I  saw  the  Duke's  hirelings  throw  you,  swooning, 
into  the  well.  I  saw  them  contemptuously  snap  your 
sword  —  the  best  blade  in  the  whole  of  France  —  and 
my  blood  boiled  — 

"Ah,  chcre  Isabelle,"  I  cried,  "Sweetheart! 
Even  as  mine  did  in  the  darksome  well." 
Then  I  read  on  : 

"Be  not  so  credulous,  my  own,  as  to  think  that  the  Duke 
believes  you  dead.  The  well,  he  knew,  would  revive, 
not  kill  you.  But  beware,  for  now  your  life  is  indeed 
in  peril.  The  body  in  the  bushes  has  been  found. 
The  horse  on  which  you  rode  to  Croquante  has  been 
recognized  and  seized  — 

"Fool  that  I  was,"  I  hissed,  "to  have  re 
placed  the  Duke's  letter  in  the  saddle's  pommel." 
The  letter  went  on  : 

"And  you  are  a  marked  man.  I  send  you  secretly  In- 
trusty  messenger  a  rapier; — ;t  is  the  Duke's.  Use 
it,  my  brave  Brochette,  but  be  prudent.  Be  wary 
and,  Oh,  be  watchful  for  my  sake.  While,  if  worse 
comes  to  worst,  as  perchance  it  may  right  speedily,  * 
repeat  boldly,  no  matter  to  whom,  the  words ;  Deux 
cafes  cognacs,  garden.  'T  is  the  secret — . " 

There  ended  the  note  abruptly.  Again  I 
pressed  it  to  my  lips  and  then  consigned  it  to 
my  wallet.  Dear  as  it  was  to  me,  there  were 
other  things  to  think  of  now.  Watchfully  —  for 
\vho  could  tell  at  what  moment  I  would  be  set 


37 


V    ©tit  of  a  Udell,    -y 

upon  ?  —  I  made  my  way  back  toward  the  Inn, 
rapier  in  hand. 

"Deux  cafes  cognacs,  garfott"  I  memorized 
softly;  "Deux  cafes  cognacs,  garfon." 

It  was  barely  sunrise,  a  silent  time  and 
sweet;  a  time  most  fitting  for  deep  reflections, 
and  mine  —  Ma  foi !  —  were  deep  enough. 

So  the  young  fool's  body  had  been  found. 
Well,  even  so,  what  of  it?  Bodies  had  been 
found  before,  and  in  bushes.  My  horse,  Gam- 
betta's  successor,  had  been  recognized  and  seized. 
Again,  what  of  it?  They  would  press  the  pom 
mel;  the  letter  to  the  Duke  would  be  found. 
Aye,  what  then  ?  Seeking  the  well,  they  would 
find  in  it  only  water,  and  then  — 

"Ah,  chere  Isabelle  !  Sweetheart  !"  I 
thought,  bending  my  rapier  reflectively,  "thy 
words  of  caution  were  timely,  truly,  and  I  thank 
thee  from  my  soul." 

Being  steedless  again,  my  first  thought  was 
to  secure  a  horse.  Bien  !  Nothing  easier.  There 
were  several  of  them  in  the  Inn  yard  and  it  was 
the  work  of  a  moment  only  to  knock  the  stable 
boy  on  the  head  and  untether  the  best  horse 
there. 

My  next  duty,  naturally,  was  to  get  out  of 
the  town,  and  this  I  did  at  a  canter.  Only 
when  out  on  the  highroad,  a  good  mile  from 
Croquante,  did  I  pause  and  look  back.  The 


•y    /fccnstcut  D'en  JSrocbettc.    -y- 

sun  was  gilding  the  spires  and  chimney  pots ; 
the  birds  were  twittering  in  the  poplars  by  the 
roadside ;  not  a  soul  was  in  sight  'twixt  the  town 
and  myself.  Once  more  turning  straight  in  the 
saddle,  and  with  not  a  little  satisfaction,  I  was 
amazed  beyond  measure  to  see  a  stranger,  silent 
and  motionless,  waiting  my  pleasure  beside  the 
horse's  head.  Imagine  the  start  it  gave  me  when 
I  recognized  in  him  an  outrider  of  the  coupe  in 
which  Isabelle  and  the  Duke  des  Pommes  de 
Terre  had  tooled  the  day  before  to  the  Inn. 

"  Well,  sirrah !  "   I  demanded. 

"  I  would  deliver  a  message  to  M'sieur  le 
Count,"  he  replied. 

l*Ma  foi .'"  I  cried,  blithely;  "it  is  a  day 
of  messages.  It  is  my  second,  in  sooth,  since 
sun-up.  Speak  freely,  sirrah." 

"  Mademoiselle  would  see  and  hold  con 
verse  with  thee,  M'sieur  le  Count,"  the  man  con 
tinued.  "It  is  most  urgent.  There  is  no  time 
to  be  lost.  She  is  at  the  Chateau  Demi  Tasse 
at  Poisson,  a  scant  three  miles  from  Bane 
d'Huitres  on  the  road  to  Paris." 

I  looked  the  man  steadily  in  the  eye  ere  I 
spoke. 

"You  are  not  deceiving  me,  sirrah?"  finally 
I  said.  "If  you  are — " 

"No,  M'sieur  le  Count,  no,"  he  replied 
earnestly. 


V    ©ut  of  a  Well.    V 

"So  be  it!"  I  cried,  my  mind  made  up. 
"  I  will  seek  Mademoiselle  at  the  Chateau  Demi 
Tasse,  but  if  she  be  not  there,  verily,  at  our  next 
meeting,  I  shall  draw  and  quarter  thee  ! " 

"M'sieur  le  Count  has  spoken,"  the  man 
said,  gravely;  and  touching  spurs  to  my  horse, 
I  left  him  standing  in  the  high  road. 

Scenting  treachery,  but  willing  to  go  through 
Hades  itself  for  a  glimpse  of  her  who  was  more 
precious  than  life,  I  took  the  Paris  road,  headed 
for  Poisson  and  the  Chateau  Demi  Tasse.  Un- 
accosted  on  the  way,  I  reached  the  village  at 
noon-day  and  straightway  located  the  chateau  on 
the  Rue  de  la  Upper  Main. 

The  place  had  a  sinister  aspect,  dark,  dank 
and  forbidding.  Around  the  corner  of  the  house, 
as  I  entered  the  drive-way  and  tied  my  horse, 
came  a  tradesman's  boy  with  a  box  on  his  shoul 
der  and  whistling  cheerily  a  popular  Deux  Temps. 

"Who  resides  here,  boy?"   I  inquired. 

"Lots,"  he  replied.  "'T  is  Madame  Filet's 
Select  Boarding  Chateau." 

With  renewed  presentiment  of  evil,  I  rapped 
on  the  front  door  and  was  shown  by  a  servant 
into  a  room  adjoining  the  main  hall. 

"M'sieur  wishes  to  engage  lodgings?"  she 
interrogated.  "  I  will  go  and  call  Madame  Filet." 

Before  I  could  detain  her  she  left  the  room, 
and  the  next  instant  there  arose  from  the  apart- 


•^»   Monsieur  fc'en  ffirocbette.    ^ 

ment  across  the  hall  a  shriek  that  I  shall  hear  to 
my  dying  day.  It  was  the  voice  of  Isabelle, 
and  — 

"They  are  choking  me!"  she  cried. 

Rapier  in  hand,  I  dashed  madly  to  the 
room  whence  the  screams  had  come,  and  burst 
ing  open  the  door,  I  beheld  not  Isabelle,  but  the 
Duke  des  Pommes  de  Terre.  -  My  sword  was 
knocked  from  my  hand  by  some  one  behind  me ; 
the  door  was  slammed  and  bolted,  and  I  was 
alone  with  an  ugly,  glowering  foe. 

" Diable !    The  Duke!"   I  exclaimed. 

"  Aye  !  Diable  !  The  Duke  ! "  he  repeated 
harshly  after  me.  "We  meet  again,  you  see, 
M'sieur  le  Popinjay." 

My  blood  boiled  again  at  the  insult,  but 
what  could  I  do?  I  was  bladeless.  I  had  only 
my  health  and  my  family  name.  Then,  of  a 
sudden,  I  recalled  the  mysterious  words  of  Isa 
belle. 

"Deux  cafes  cognacs,  gar(on !  Deux  cafes 
cognacs"  I  cried. 

Mon  Dien !  Shall  I  ever  forget,  M'sieurs, 
the  change  that  came  over  the  Duke  ! 


CHAPTER   IV. 

IN  WHICH  I  MAKE  A  STARTLING  DISCOVERY. 

IHE  RICH  mahogany  hue  of  that  dissi 
pated  face  turned  an  ashen  gray 
as  I  gave  voice  to  the  phrase  and 
the  Duke,  staggering  backward  in 
a  sudden  surge  of  dismay,  dropped 
sword  upon  the  tesselated  floor.  To  leap  madly 
forward  and  seize  it  by  the  hilt  was  but  the  work 
of  a  moment;  and  again,  as  I  found  myself 
armed  once  more,  I  hissed  in  the  man's  gaping 
countenance  the  cry : 

" Deux  cafes  cognacs,  garc_on  !" 
"Man  Dieu/"    he    muttered,   a  white  froth 
upon  his  lips,  and  his  eyes  rolling  madly,  as  he 
started  aback.      "The  word  !" 

And  then  it  all  came  over  me  like  a  flash. 
The  man's  secret  in  that  involuntary  movement 
backward  was  revealed,  and  the  manifest  wince 
that  crept  over  his  being  as  the  word  garfon  fell 
from  my  lips  showed  him  in  his  true  colors. 

The  person  who  stood  before  me  was  not 
the  true  Duke  des  Pommes  de  Terre,  but  some 
base  born  churl  masquerading  in  borrowed  — 
nay,  better  put  it  stolen  —  plumes.  I  eyed  him 
narrowly  as  he  mopped  his  brow  with  his  hand- 


•V    Monsieur  D'en  JBrocbettc.    -^ 

kerchief,  which  in  very  truth  bore  the  ducal  crest, 
although  he  handled  it  like  a  serviette. 

"  You  heard  ?  "  I  cried.  "Deux  cafes  cognacs, 
garden .'" 

"  Oui,  M'sieur,"  he  answered,  cringing  low 
and  washing  his  hands  in  savon  invisible.  "In 
stantly,  M'sieur,"  he  added,  placing  the  handker 
chief  over  his  wrist  as  though  it  were  a  napkin 
and  he  merely  the  serving  man  of  a  Boulevard 
salle  a  manger. 

"  Pah  ! "  I  ejaculated  as  my  scorn  swept 
over  me ;  and  then  for  the  first  time  came  relief 
to  the  over-tense  situation  for,  ludicrously  enough, 
even  as  I  blew  the  scornful  exclamation  from  my 
lips,  this  spurious  Duke  sat  plump  upon  the  floor 
in  the  manner  of  an  object  that  had  been  blown 
over  by  some  sudden,  paralyzing  gust  of  wind. 
"Marionette!"  I  added.  "Th-huh!" 

"  Non,  Monsieur;  non.  Jules  Fagot,  Mon 
sieur,"  he  chattered.  "  Plain  Jules  Fagot  at  your 
service,  Monsieur." 

"  Ah  —  Jules  Fagot,  eh  ?  Of  where  —  Fon- 
tainbleu,  or  what  other  famous  wood-pile  ? "  I 
demanded. 

"  Le  Cafe  de  la  Paix,  M'sieur,  of  Paris," 
was  his  quivering  response. 

"Head-waiter  or  chef?"  I  persisted,  re 
solved  to  press  my  questions  home  until  the 
man's  very  soul  lay  naked  before  me. 


^    B   Startling  Discovery.    ^ 

"Non,  Monsieur;  valet  de  cuisine,  M'sieur, 
settlement  valet  de  cuisine"  he  mumbled. 

"And  his  Grace  the  true  Duke  des  Pommes 
de  Terre?  What  has  become  of  him?"  I  cried. 

A  greater  fear  racked  the  form  of  the  cring 
ing  coward  before  me,  and  he  made  as  though 
lie  could  not  speak.  The  point  of  the  rapier 
restored  him  to  utterance,  however,  for  I  made  no 
hesitation  of  puncturing  his  silken  hosiery  with 
it  until  the  sawdust  fairly  spouted  from  the 
wound. 

"  He  is  a  prisoner,"  replied  Fagot,  under 
the  pressure  of  pain,  "in  the  wine  cellar  at  the 
Cafe  de  la  Paix.  He  would  not  enter  into  the 
conspiracy  and  it  was  necessary  that  he  should, 
else  all  of  us  would  be  hanged  before  sundown. 
They  seized  upon  me,  the  living  image  of  the 
Duke  save  as  to  the  mole  upon  the  chin,  to  assume 
his  personality,  at  least  until  the  hour  was  ripe 
for  placing  him  upon  the  throne  of  his  uncle." 

"And  had  he  not  consented  then?"   I  cried. 

"Then  I  was  to  reign  in  his  stead,"  Fagot 
replied. 

"  A  most  foul  conspiracy  ! "  I  muttered. 
"To  place  a  base  born  churl  upon  the  throne  of 
Charlemagne.  Ventre  Saltpetre,  but  it  is  incred 
ible.  I  do  not  know  whether  to  believe  this 
varlet's  tale  or  not.  Jules  Fagot,  it  is  true  that 
you  greatly  resemble  the  Duke,  but,  aha  !  mayhap 


^    Monsieur  yen  38rocbette.    -V 

indeed  thou  art  lie  and  lying  to  me,  still"  —  1 
added,  bending  over  him  threateningly,  for  as  I 
spoke  I  perceived  the  mole  upon  the  chattering 
coward's  chin.  "Thou  hast  the  birth-mark-!" 

"  Oui,  M'sieur,"  he  replied,  his  pallor  deepen 
ing  as  one  having  been  caught  with  stolen  goods, 
"but  it  is  spurious."  And  with  this  he  flicked 
the  mole  from  off  his  chin  with  his  thumb-nail 
and  handed  it  to  me.  My  first  impulse  was  to 
toss  the  thing  out  of  the  window  in  sheer  disgust, 
but  second  thought  made  me  keep  it,  since  there 
was  no  telling  how  far  such  material  evidence  of 
their  dastardly  plottings  would  go  to  bring  mel 
low  fruit  to  the  spreading  branches  of  the  gal 
lows-tree.  So,  having  no  other  where  to  put  it  I 
affixed  it  firmly  to  my  own  chin,  little  recking 
what  tremendous  influence  this  simplest  of  acts 
was  to  have  upon  the  history  of  France  and  my 
self  during  the  next  forty-eight  hours. 

"A  damnable  conspiracy  this  of  yours,  my 
Fagot,"  said  I. 

"  France  has  been  ruled  by  its  cavaliers  long 
enough,"  he  growled.  "It  is  time  the  makers  of 
the  true  France  came  into  their  own." 

"The  Makers  of  true  France,  varlet?"  I 
cried.  "  Sapristi  tie  Santa  Maria  —  and  who  may 
they  be  ?" 

"The  Chefs,  M'sieur,"  he  replied.  "The 
Chefs  of  Marseilles,  of  Toulon,  aye,  and  of  la 


fO 


-^    B  Startling  JDtecomg.    ^ 

Belle  Paris.  It  is  we  who  have  won  glorious 
renown  for  our  beautiful  country,  yet  where  is 
our  recognition.  Our  generals  who  in  time  of 
war  have  won  great  victories  have  risen  to  places 
of  honor  and  power.  Field  Marshall  Vicomte  de 
Tureen  has  been  ennobled  for  a  single  moment's 
brave  display  of  reckless  courage  on  the  plains 
of  old  Compiegne.  M.  le  Baron  Bar-le-Duc  for 
his  tragedy  at  Fontenoy  was  taken  into  the  Coun 
cil  of  the  King  and  dowered  with  vast  posses 
sions.  M.  le  General  de  Roquefort  has  received 
the  richest  rewards  the  country  lavishes  upon  the 
fortunate  ones  of  war;  but  we,  sir,  we  the  Chefs 
who  in  times  of  peace  and  war  have  shed  lustre 
upon  the  tables  of  our  King  —  we  still  go  un 
rewarded.  T  is  well  to  lift  on  high  the  arms  of 
France,  but  he  contributes  most  to  a  nation's 
lasting  greatness  who  keeps  its  stomach  fair  and 
fed,  its  palate  sated,  and  its  dreams  of  glory  safe 
and  sane  and  sweet." 

Faith,  but  the  fellow's  words  went  deep  into 
my  soul  and  stirred  it  well,  and  had  he  been  less 
cringing  and  kept  his  hands  apart  instead  of  giv 
ing  them  that  low  born  wring  and  twist  that 
marks  the  menial  as  a  servitor  for  aye,  right 
gladly  would  I  have  offered  him  the  softened 
glance  of  sympathy.  But  there  he  was  intrin 
sically  the  valet  of  the  kitchen,  and  I,  of  course, 
a  Huevos  Pasada  par  Agua,  to  say  nothing  of 


^    /Bbonsieur  fc'en  JSrocbettc.    ^* 

my  claim  to  the  blood  of  a  d'en  Brochette,  could 
not  well  descend  unto  the  level  of  such  canaille. 
Moreover,  it  infuriated  me  'beyond  the  power  of 
epithet  to  think  that  such  a  one  had  crossed 
swords  with  me  —  the  wielder  of  one  of  the 
proudest  blades  of  France. 

"Go  on,  fellow,"  I  commanded,  suppressing 
the  momentary  impulses  of  sympathy. 

"We  have  united  and  form  a  party 
2,000,000  strong  of  active  workers,  each  one 
of  whom  can  count  upon  a  hundred  sympathiz 
ing  friends  —  or  2,000,000  subjects  —  " 

"  Ventre  Saint  Ambergris  ! "  I  cried,  pacing 
the  floor  in  agitation  at  the  stupendous  revelation 
I  had  stumbled  upon.  "A  hundred  times  the 
population  of  our  land." 

"In  truth,  yes,"  he  replied,  quietly.  "And 
that,  Milord,  without  a  vestige  of  a  surface  agi 
tation.  You  may  well  pause  in  the  face  of  such 
figures,  for  if  they  mount  so  high  in  secret  effort, 
to  what  will  they  amount  when  a  public  propa 
ganda  brings  the  rest  flocking  to  our  standards!" 

What  my  answer  would  have  been  I  hardly 
know,  for  we  were  interrupted  by  three  soft 
knocks  upon  the  door.  Fagot,  his  cringing  in 
stantly  faded  into  resolution,  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  reached  for  the  knob. 

"If  you  call  for  help  you  are  a  dead  man ! " 
I  whispered,  blocking  his  path  and  holding  my 


^    B  Startling  Discovery.    ^ 

sword  point  directly  at  his  throat.  "Send  them 
away." 

"Who  's  there  !"   he  called,  hoarsely. 

"It  is  I,  Monsieur  le  Duke  —  Le  Chevalier 
de  Brie,  Captain  of  the  Camembert  Carabiniers." 

My  heart  fluttered  with  excitement,  for  the 
name  of  that  bravo  was  already  a  terror  to  half 
of  France. 

"Tell  him  you  are  engaged  or  you  die  !"  I 
whispered,  emphasizing  my  command  by  prick 
ing  the  varlet's  Adam's  apple,  with  the  tip  end 
of  his  own  sword.  "Quick!"  I  added,  as  he- 
hesitated. 

"Later,  Chevalier,  later,"  the  spurious  Duke 
called  aloud.  "  I  am  on  the  point  —  ouch  !  —  1 
am  on  the  point  of  settling  a  delicate  matter, 
mon  Capitainc.  I  will  give  thee  audience  latef." 

Ma  foi,  but  I  was  relieved  to  hear  the  clank 
ing  spurs  of  the  receding  footsteps  without.  Not, 
let  me  tell  you,  that  in  single  combat  I  feared  de 
Brie,  nor  that  L  held  unwelcome  the  prospect  of 
crossing  blades  with  hirn  some  day.  In  sooth,  the 
contrary  was  more  to  my  real  taste,  for  had  I  not 
made  a  vow  to  a  fair  lady  of  Castile  —  the  lovely 
Catherine  de  Savon,  my  cousin  —  that  for  her 
wedding  gift,  the  curled  chin  whisker  of  de  Brie 
woven  into  a  chatelaine,  would  go  to  her  once  the 
nuptial  hour  was  set?  But  at  the  moment,  I  had 
other  things  to  think  on.  The  rascal,  Fagot,  and 

5.? 


+jf   Monsieur  D'en  JBrocbette.    -V 

his  base  conspiracy  were  fitter  things  for  Huevos 
Pasada  par  Agua  at  the  pressing  hour,  and  so  I 
say,  I  was  much  relieved  to  hear  the  clanking 
spurs  of  the  receding  footsteps  without. 

"  Now,  you  miserable  atom  of  the  prole 
tariat,"  I  observed,  turning  to  the  cringing  Fagot, 
"continue  with  your  tale  of  infamy.  In  what 
way  is  the  fair  Isabelle  mixed  up  in  this  in 
trigue  ?  " 

"  My  fiancee,"  he  answered,  his  sickly,  green 
face  lighting  up  with  passion,  his  head  madden 
ingly  chirked  as  though  he  were,  indeed,  a  devil 
among  the  ladies. 

"Yours?"  I  cried,  my  wrath  surpassing 
bounds. 

"Well  —  his  —  the  real  Duke  des  Pommes 
de  Terre,  but  mine  by  right  of  succession,"  he 
answered,  setting  his  arms  akimbo  and  twirling 
his  moustachios  in  a  surge  of  conceit. 

To  grab  him  by  the  throat  and  toss  him 
violently  across  the  room  into  a  corner  as  if  he 
were  so  much  mere  bagging  was  the  work  of  an 
instant  and,  Venire  Saint  Petersburg,  his  last  hour 
were  indeed  come,  had  not  a  piercing  shriek  from 
behind  the  wainscot  distracted  my  attention. 

"To  me  —  Huevos  —  to  me  !"  came  a  de 
spairing  woman's  voice.  "Man  Dieu  —  to  me 
or  I  die."- 

It  was  again  the  voice  of  Isabelle. 

54 


•y-    S  Startling  SMscoverg.    ^ 

I  leaped  to  the  wainscot  and  madly  felt 
along  its  panelled  sides  for  some  possible  hidden 
spring  that  should  open  a  secret  door  leading  to 
the  distressed  lady's  quarters.  Inch  by  inch,  I 
covered  the  whole  side  of  that  accurst  wall  with 
thumb  and  ringer,  until  —  click  !  The  center 
panel  slid  to  one  side,  and  a  black  corridor  with 
out  disclosed  itself.  Plunging  through  the  open 
ing,  I  started  to  run.  Fagot,  as  I  did  so,  rose 
hastily  and  slid  back  the  panel,  leaving  me  with 
out  and  in  utter  darkness. 

"A  moi,  Huevos,  a  tnoif"  came  Isabelle's 
voice  from  the  fore,  and  I  began  to  run  towards 
it.  A  mocking  laugh  from  behind  the  panel 
grated  harshly  upon  my  ears. 

"Run,  you  squirrel,  run  !"  called  Fagot. 
"The  maid  to  the  fore;  the  oubliette  behind  ! 
Ha-ha— Ha-ha!" 

And  then,  as  I  sped  along,  I  realized  the 
horrid  truth. 

The  floor  of  that  cursed  corridor  was  naught 
else  than  an  easy  running  treadmill,  and  run  till 
I  lost  my  wind,  scamper  as  I  might,  I  could  not 
get  a  single  step  forward,  and  what  was  more 
devilish  still,  I  could  not  stop  for  rest. 

For  behind  me  lay  the  oubliette. 

Squirrel  indeed  !  That  was  I.  A  winded 
one  at  that. 


CHAPTER   V. 
IN  WHICH  THE  HERO  ACQUIRES  A  TITLE. 

JONSIDER,  M'SIEURS,  the  emotions  of  a 
man,  however  stout  of  heart,  con 
demned  to  run  forever  in  a  Stygian 
blackness,  with  the  appalling  alter 
native  of  pitching  backward  into 
the  slimy  maw  of  an  oubliette  ! 

Was  ever  woman  in  this  humor  wooed  ? 
Was  ever  Pate  de  Foie  Gras  in  this  manner 
served  ? 

As  with  desperate  feet  I  whirled  the  accurst 
treadmill,  my  hands  pressed  flat  against  the  cor 
ridor  end,  I  hastily  reviewed  the  later  phases 
of  the  adventure  into  which  fate  and  a  sus 
ceptible  heart  had  hurled  me.  The  Duke  des 
Pommes  de  Terre  au  Gratin  was  a  prisoner  in 
the  cobwebbed  cellars  of  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix 
in  Paris,  and  his  beautiful  fiancee,  Isabelle,  was 
in  the  power  of  the  pseudo  Duke,  the  base-born 
Jules  Fagot.  For  Fagot  and  his  wretched  con 
spiracy  I  cared  not  a  sou,  but  my  blood  seethed 
as  I  reflected  that  Isabelle  was  ignorant  of 
Fagot's  real  character.  Unhappy  girl,  she  had, 
like  so  many  of  her  sex,  been  betrothed  without 
havin  seen  the  fare  of  her  fiance.  The  reflec- 


^   tlbc  t)ero  Bcquires  a  Citle.    ^ 

lion  was  at  once  a  pleasure  and  a  pain.  She 
had  not  seen  the  real  Duke;  why,  then,  should 
she  love  him?  And  in  a  battle  lor  a  woman's 
heart,  all  a  Brochette  has  ever  asked  is  a  fair 
field  and  no  favor.  All  this,  M'sieurs,  by  the 
way  of  running  comment. 

1  had  run,  I  judged,  some  three  hours  ere 
my  strength,  enormous  as  it  has  always  been, 
fled  from  me  utterly.  A  shuddering  dread  of 
the  oubliette  had  upborne  me,  but  even  that 
vanished  at  last  against  my  deadly  exhaustion. 
I  tottered,  like  some  mouldering  old  castle  riven 
by  a  lightning  bolt.  I  sank  upon  one  knee, 
my  brain  reeling.  I  breathed  the  name  of  Isa- 
belle,  and  fell  forward  upon  my  face.  The 
oubliette  had  claimed  its  victim ! 

Strange,  I  reflected  a  few  moments  later, 
I  have  had  no  sensation  of  falling  into  a  pit. 
Man  Dieu !  A  maddening  suspicion  coursed 
like  quicksilver  through  my  whirling  brain.  I 
struggled  to  my  feet,  struck  a  match,  and  by  the 
flaring  of  its  small  light  I  saw  that  my  suspicion 
was  very  truth.  There  was  no  treadmill !  There 
was  no  oubliette  !  1  had  been  victim  of  a  fiend 
ish  suggestion  assisted  by  my  own  heated  fancy. 
For  three  hours  I  had  turned  an  imaginary 
treadmill  at  the  blind  end  of  a  dark  corridor, 
and  all  the  while  stood  a  door  at  my  elbow, 
ready  to  be  passed. 

57 


^    Monsieur  O'en  JBrocbette.    •& 

In  a  towering  rage  I  dashed  open  the  door 
and  found  myself  in  an  unoccupied  chamber 
giving  on  the  street.  A  lace  handkerchief  lay 
crumpled  on  the  floor.  I  picked  it  up,  and  a 
wave  of  passion  swept  over  me.  I  recognized 
the  perfume.  It  was  Isabelle's.  I  flung  out  of 
the  chamber  and  clattered  down  the  stairs.  Too 
late  !  Too  late !  The  vulture  and  the  dove  had 
flown ! 

For  a  space  of  five  minutes  or  more  the 
denizens  of  the  Chateau  Demi  Tasse  had  oppor 
tunity  to  judge  the  quality  of  a  Brochette  balked 
of  his  prey.  The  original  bull  in  the  china  shop 
was  not  more  destructive,  nor  had  he  half  so  ter 
rible  a  bellow. 

" Sacre  nom  de  chat  noir  !"  I  raged,  hurling 
a  water  bottle  through  the  best  window;  and 
"Venire  de  inoJon !"  crushing  with  a  chair  a 
thousand  francs  of  Sevres  china  and  cut  glass. 
The  servants  cowered  in  affright,  the  lady  cashier 
fled,  Mme.  Filet  ran  for  the  gendarmerie.  I 
strode  to  the  stables.  The  garfon  d'ecurie  took 
to  his  heels,  and  undisturbed  I  saddled  the  best 
horse  in  sight.  As  I  jingled  into  the  street 
Mme.  Filet  returned  with  a  score  of  gendarmes, 
but  I  rode  the  canaille  down  and  set  my  face 
toward  Paris. 

I  had  galloped  a  league  or  more  before 
my  wild  Brochette  blood  resumed  its  normal 


'/rode  the  canaille  down." 

59 


Hcquires  a  tlitle. 


flow.  Then  suddenly  I  made  a  discovery  that 
banished  for  the  nonce  all  memory  of  my  late 
disaster.  The  saddle  I  sat  in  was  the  saddle 
of  the  dead  messenger  to  the  Duke  des  Pommes 
de  Terre  !  With  trembling  fingers  I  pressed  the 
pommel.  The  letter  lay  again  before  my  eyes  — 
intact,  the  seal  unbroken. 

"A  ISrochette  !  A  Brochette  !"  I  cried  ex- 
ultingly.  The  road  to  fortune  was  again  open. 

But  first  I  must  have  fresh  apparel  and  a 
rapier.  These  I  should  purchase  at  Manchet, 
toward  which  I  spurred  my  horse.  I  thrust  the 
precious  letter  in  my  pocket  and  stroked  my  chin 
reflectively.  As  I  did  so  my  fingers  encountered 
the  property  mole  which,  a  few  hours  before, 
I  had  flicked  from  the  chin  of  the  impudent 
impostor,  Jules  Fagot,  and  thoughtlessly  affixed 
to  my  own  countenance. 

"So,"  I  mused,  tapping  the  mole,  "with 
this  pitiful  bit  of  make-up  the  wretched  Fagot 
hoped  to  cozen  the  world.  Ass  !  Why,  one 
would  say  that  I,  Count  Pate  de  Foie  Gras, 
was  become  the  Duke.  And,  I/HI  foi!  with 
more  of  reason,  for  my  blood  is  as  good  as  his, 
and  were  I  suitably  apparelled  "  —  I  glanced  at 
my  disordered  raiment  —  "I  should  look  the 
Duke  in  very  sooth." 

Humoring  thus  my  whimsey  I  rode  into 
Manchet  and  sought  a  department  store,  where 

61 


^    dfconsteur  D'en  JBrocbette.    ^ 

I  purchased  a  princely  suit  of  clothes  of  im 
peccable  cut  and  quality,  and  a  rapier  of  best 
Toledo. 

"  C'est  le  Due,"  I  overheard  a  demoiselle  de 
boutique  remark  to  her  neighbor,  and  the  whisper 
ran  from  counter  to  counter  :  "  C'est  le  Due. 
C'est  le  Due" 

I  felt  my  chin.  The  mole  was  still  there. 
In  a  flash  the  cringing  servility  of  the  proprietor 
was  explained.  Bent  double,  he  accompanied 
me  to  my  horse.  "  Your  Excellency  is  well  ? " 
he  said  obsequiously.  "Shall  I  not  send  your 
Excellency's  purchases  to  the  chateau?" 

"A  word  in  your  ear,  canaille"  I  answered, 
scowling  at  him.  "I  am  not  what  I  seem 
to  be." 

"Instantly  I  perceived  that  by  your  Excel 
lency's  disguise,"  he  answered,  with  a  glance 
at  my  travel-stained  and  adventure-rent  ward 
robe.  "Your  Excellency  may  command  my  dis 
cretion." 

"Very  good,"  said  I.  "Now  tell  me,  has 
aught  occurred  at  the  chateau  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  Excellency.  The  chateau  is  de 
serted,  save  for  the  servants." 

I  mounted  and  tied  my  purchases  to  the 
saddle  horn.  "One  final  question,  canaille: 
where  is  the  chateau?" 

The    man    stared    open-mouthed.     Then  a 


acquires  a  title. 


smile  cleft  his  countenance.  "Your  Excellency 
is  pleased  to  jest,"  he  said. 

"Answer  me!"  I  thundered.  Startled,  he 
pointed  up  the  road. 

"  Half  a  league,   Excellency." 

"  Now  —  silence  !  "  I  said,  piercing  him 
with  a  glance. 

"Your  Excellency  may  command  my  dis 
cretion,"  he  mumbled,  as  I  pricked  up  my  horse 
and  galloped  away. 

So  ;  my  resemblance  to  the  Duke  was 
more  than  casual.  You  will  scarcely  credit  it, 
M'sieurs,  but  I  had  forgotten  my  own  features. 
I  was  no  self-worshipping  Narcissus.  'T  was 
years  since  I  had  looked  into  other  mirror 
than  that  of  woman's  eyes.  Impelled  by  curi 
osity  I  sprang  from  my  horse  and  gazed  into  the 
glassy  depths  of  a  wayside  pool.  I  saw  —  a 
man  of  five  and  twenty,  remarkably  handsome 
and  distingue,  with  a  very  white  skin  and  in 
tensely  black  hair  and  eyes.  "Ma  foil"  I  mur 
mured,  "  I  did  not  know  I  was  so  well  favored." 

Parbleu  !  An  inspiration!  I  led  my  horse 
into  a  thicket  and  attired  myself  in  my  new  rai 
ment.  "Farewell,  Count  Pate  de  Foie  Gras!" 
I  cried,  as  I  tossed  away  my  shabby  garments. 
"  Henceforth  you  are  the  Duke  des  Pommes  de 
Terre  !  " 

Thus  bravely  accoutred    and  feeling  every 


*y~    Aonslcut  ft'en  36rocbcttc.    ^*- 

inch  a  Duke,  I  rode  boldly  into  the  chateau 
courtyard,  dismounted,  and  flung  the  reins  to  a 
waiting  man-at-arms. 

The  chateau  wore  a  deserted  look,  but  it 
had  a  grand  and  lordly  air,  and  appeared  in  excel 
lent  repair.  A  minion  in  livery,  whom  I  took  to 
be  the  Duke's  valet,  preceded  me  up  a  magnifi 
cent  staircase  and  into  a  suite  of  rooms  furnished 
with  the  utmost  luxury  and  elegance.  The 
second  of  these  was  a  large  and  admirably  pro 
portioned  apartment  ;  a  log  fire  roared  up  the 
enormous  chimney,  and  in  a  curtained  alcove  I 
observed  a  sumptuous  and  luxurious  bed.  Over 
the  high,  richly  ornamented  chimney-piece  hung 
a  portrait  of  a  gentleman.  The  face  seemed 
strangely  familiar  to  me,  yet  I  could  not  remem 
ber  where  I  had  seen  it  before.  Suddenly,  "Ma 
foil"  I  burst  out,  smiting  my  hip,  "  //  is  myself!  " 
That  is  to  say,  M'sieurs,  it  was  the  Duke  des 
Pommes  de  Terre,  but  the  resemblance  was  per 
fect.  There  was  but  one  flaw  :  I  had  affixed  the 
mole  to  the  wrong  side  of  my  chin.  This  error 
I  had  no  sooner  corrected  than  my  ear  was 
assailed  by  a  bustle  in  the  courtyard.  I  stepped 
to  the  balcony,  and  — 

Sapristi  !  Whom  should  I  behold  but  the 
arch-plotter  Jules  Fagot,  the  beauteous  Isabelle, 
and  that  most  truculent  of  bravos,  the  Chevalier 
de  Brie,  Captain  of  the  Camembert  Carabiniers  ! 

64 


"  '  T  U'as  the  face  of  Fagot  that  riveted  mv  attention 

6s 


^    £be  Ibcio  Scqimcs  a  Citle.    ^ 

Upon  the  bravo  I  bestowed  but  a  glance  ;  upon 
the  glorious  face  of  Isabella  my  gaze  rested  but 
for  an  instant.  T  was  the  face  of  Fagot  that 
riveted  my  attention.  Ma  foi !  would  you  be 
lieve  it,  M'sieurs?  —  myself  had  not  noted  it 
before  —  the  fellou'  looked  as  like  me  as  two  cen 
times  !  Upon  his  chin  he  had  glued  another 
mole,  to  replace  the  one  I  had  taken  from  him  ! 

Instantly  my  quick  mind  took  in  the  situ 
ation  with  one  sweeping  cerebration.  It  was  to 
be  a  battle  of  wits  between  the  rival  Dukes. 
"Ha!"  I  muttered  exultingly,  as  my  eagle  eye 
pounced  upon  the  chin  of  my  antagonist,  "  I  have 
the  fellow  on  the  hip !  Fool  !  He  has  over 
reached  himself ! " 

FAGOT  HAD  MISPLACED  THE  MOLE  ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  WHICH  THERE  ARE  DUKES  AND  DUKES. 

|IFE  !  LIFE  !  Ah,  what  is  life,  M'sieurs, 
beyond  the  sunny  borders  of  be 
loved  France  ?  Where  else  does  the 
blood  so  swiftly  course  ?  Where 
else  has  the  day,  from  sun  to  sun, 
such  a  pageant  of  events  ?  Where  else  —  but 
Mon  Dieu  !  Why  wander  thus  ?  The  facts  for 
themselves  shall  ably  testify. 

Marvel,  M'sieurs;  't  was  scant  two  days 
since,  seated  souless  in  the  large  bow  window  on 
the  Rue  de  June  Fourteenth  side  of  the  Cafe 
D'Oeuf,  I  had  first  held  converse  with  Isabelle, 
the  incomparable,  yet  within  that  brief  time,  I 
had  journeyed  from  Paris  to  Croquante,  from 
Croquante  to  Poisson  and  the  house  of  Demi 
Tasse  and  from  Poisson  to  Manchet,  where  with 
Mole  secure  and  eye  commanding,  I  was  now 
impersonating  the  Duke  des  Pommes  de  Terre 
in  the  Duke's  own  chateau  and  expecting 
momentarily  the  coming  of  Fagot,  the  despic 
able  !  Ah,  France  !  France  !  Where  else  but 
in  thy  fragrant  realm  ?  Where  else  but  'neath 
thy  glowing  skies? 

I  meditate  now,  M'sieurs,  and  I  dream  be- 


•y    Dufcee  anfr  2>ufces.    -^r 

sides.  But  when  I  stepped  back  from  the  bal 
cony  after  seeing  Isabelle,  Fagot  and  the  Che 
valier  de  Brie  in  the  castle  yard  below,  believe 
me,  I  neither  dreamed  nor  meditated.  The  first 
thrill  of  triumphant  exultation,  which  I  felt  on 
perceiving  from  the  window  that  the  base-born 
Fagot  had  misplaced  the  mole,  gave  way  instanter 
to  a  sober  reflection  that  the  game  was  not  yet 
won ;  nor,  indeed,  fairly  begun,  though  speedily 
enough  did  I  begin  it. 

A  duller  pate  than  mine,  M'sieurs,  —  for 
dullness  was  ne'er  a  trait  of  any  d'en  Brochette 
—  would  easily  have  noted  with  whom  the  ad 
vantage  lay.  The  churl  Fagot  was  ignorant  of 
my  presence  in  the  Duke's  chateau  and  still  more 
ignorant  of  the  pleasing  truth  that  for  the  time 
being,  at  least,  the  Duke  was  I,  and  I  the  Duke. 

"Ma  foil"  I  muttered  grimly,  giving  to  my 
mole  a  final  pat,  "  I  shall  not,  methinks,  be  tardy 
in  acquainting  him." 

Striding  past  the  fire  and  the  portrait  of  His 
Grace  —  here  I  laughed,  as  who  could  help?  A 
warm  blaze  in  the  massive  fire  place;  a  sump 
tuous  repast,  I  doubted  not,  whenever  I  chose  to 
order  it;  servants  galore  at  my  beck  and  call,  all 
these,  in  sooth,  for  Brochette,  while  the  Duke  — 
Mon  Dieu  —  the  Duke  lay  shivering  and  cursing 
in  the  dismal  wine  vaults  of  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix. 
M'sieurs,  I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  strode  on. 
69 


•^f   /foonsteur  &'en  JBrocbctte.    ^ 

It  was  the  way  of  the  world,  M'sieurs;  of  the 
world  and  France. 

Reaching  the  door,  I  called  lustily  for  a 
menial.  Promptly,  one  responded,  low  bowing. 

"  Get  you  to  the  yard,  fellow,"  I  com 
manded,  "and  you  will  find  there  three  travelers, 
newly  arrived;  a  lady  and  two  male  companions" 
—  the  word  gentlemen,  M'sieurs,  stuck  in  my 
throat  —  "Approach  the  stouter  of  the  men  — 
are  you  attending  strictly,  sirrah?" 

"  Oui,  Your  Grace." 

"Approach  the  stouter  of  the  men  and  re 
peat  to  him  these  words,  no  more,  no  less  :  'Deux 
cafes  cognacs,  Carbon.  Deux  cafe's  cognacs?  Now, 
be  off." 

For  a  second,  the  man  stared  wildly  and 
hesitated. 

"Go!"   I  repeated.     "Do  you  understand?" 

With  quaking  knees  and  shaking  head,  the 
fellow  started  down  the  mighty  stair  case. 

"Sapristi!"  I  laughed,  as  I  watched  him 
turn  the  landing,  "friend  Fagot's  face  will  be  well 
worth  scanning,  I  trow,  if  yonder  menial  proves 
not  a  dolt." 

Still  inwardly  laughing,  I  listened,  for  the 
spirit  of  the  jest  was  bubbling  within  me,  and 
eagerly  did  I  await  the  developments  which  I 
knew  must  soon  come.  'T  would  be  d'en  Brochette 
who  first  would  score  in  the  tournament  of  wits. 
70 


•y-   Dukes  anfc  Dufces.    ^ 

Anxious  to  see  as  well  as  to  hear,  I  de 
scended  softly  to  the  landing  below.  Cautiously, 
but  with  a  lively  sense  of  anticipation,  I  directed 
my  gaze  upon  the  entrance  hall.  The  trio  were 
within  the  chateau.  How  Fagot,  masquerading 
as  the  Duke,  had  passed  unchallenged  by  the 
warder  and  the  men-at-arms  was  at  first  a  mys 
tery  profound  to  me.  Then  I  recalled  that  the 
guard  at  the  gate  had  been  changed  at  sun-down 
and  the  thing  in  a  twinkling  was  clear.  The 
men  who  saluted  Jules  Fagot,  bogus  Duke  cles 
Pommes  de  Terre,  were  not  the  same  set  that  an 
hour  before  had  presented  halberds  on  the  com 
ing  of  d'en  Brochette  —  likewise  bogus,  but  — 
Saints  witness  it  —  in  a  worthy  cause.  There 
were  two  Dukes  in  that  house,  M'sieurs,  and  I 
alone  as  yet  was  aware  of  it. 

"  Delicious  ! "  exultantly  I  cried.  "  And  now 
for  Fagot's  welcome.  It  shall  be  a  royal  one, 
believe  me,  M'sieur  -valet  de  cuisine." 

Carefully,  I  peered  beyond  the  stair  rail. 
The  shadows  of  nightfall  were  gathering  apace 
and  there  was  scant  danger  that  I  should  be  seen 
till  I  chose  deliberately  to  disclose  myself.  Fagot 
—  cringing  scullion,  how  my  hands  ached  to 
throttle  him  !  —  Fagot  at  that  moment  was  divest 
ing  Isabelle  of  her  cloak,  and  their  forms  were 
sharply  silhouetted  in  the  glow  of  the  great  hall 
fire.  The  Chevalier  de  Brie,  Captain  of  the 

71 


"V    /fooneleur  JXen  ^Brocbette.    -^ 

Camembert  Carabiniers,  stood  silent  to  one  side, 
near  the  foot  of  the  grand  stair  case  and  — 
Diablc !  To  him  came  the  menial  whom  I  had 
entrusted  with  the  words  !  Fagot's  back  was 
turned.  He  did  not  hear.  This  clown  of  a 
trencherman,  this  ass  of  the  household,  would 
deliver  my  address  of  welcome  to  the  wrong  man  ! 

"  Sac ~re  saucisson  de  Bologne ! "  I  hissed, 
grinding  my  teeth  together  like  the  upper  and 
nether  stones  of  a  mill.  "'T  is  now  a  game  of 
chance,  with  skill  at  a  discount." 

"D-deux  c-cnk-cafes  c-cognacs,  Gar — M'sieur" 
stammered  —  nay,  almost  whimpered  —  my  don 
key  of  a  messenger. 

"What  sayest  them,  varlet?"  the  chevalier 
fiercely  inquired. 

"D-d-d-dcux  c-cafcs  cug-cognacs,  M'sieur?" 

"Parbleu  !  "  cried  the  Chevalier.  "  A  strange 
refreshment,  truly,  to  offer  a  hungry  man;  but 
certainly,  bring  them,  if  it  be  the  Duke's  custom 
and  the  way  of  the  chateau." 

"  Oni,  M'sieur,"  chirped  the  doltish  lackey, 
evidently  much  relieved,  and  starting  rapidly  for 
the  family  sideboard.  The  Chevalier,  however, 
detained  him. 

"  Garfon"  he  said,  "  Hither  !  " 

"  Oi/i,  out,  M'sieur,"  chirped  the  blithering 
fool  once  more.  And  then  said  the  Chevalier: 

"Make  it  three,  gar(on." 


V1    SHihes  and  Dukes.    ^ 

"Sacre  saucisson  de  Bologne  !  "  again  I  hissed, 
in  the  darkness  of  the  stair.  "He  has  taken 
their  orders.  Idiot  that  I  was  to  expect  aught 
else  of  a  waiter." 

But  't  was  bootless,  M'sieurs,  to  waste  time 
in  regrets.  The  game  for  the  instant  had  set 
against  me.  Stay  set,  it  should  not.  The  next 
run  of  cards  should  tell  another  tale. 

I  remained  by  the  rail  of  the  landing  only 
long  enough  to  see  Fagot,  Isabelle  and  the  Che 
valier  De  Brie,  attended  by  obsequious  retainers, 
start  in  the  direction  of  the  stair.  The  servants 
bore  lights,  and  the  nook  in  which  I  stood  would 
soon  become  untenable.  Swiftly  and  softly,  for 
I  was  not  yet  ready  to  disclose  my  presence,  pre 
ferring  to  wait  instead  till  the  time  was  fully  ripe, 
I  tip-toed  to  the  large  apartment,  to  which,  in 
the  guise  of  the  Duke,  I  had  at  first  repaired, 
and  entering  silently,  barred  the  door.  Safe  did 
I  feel  in  doing  so,  M'sieurs,  for  was  not  Fagot, 
like  myself,  whoHy  unfamiliar  with  the  Chateau's 
interior,  and  as  unlikely  as  would  I  have  been 
to  take  chances  with  closed  doors,  when  sus 
picion  is  so  readily  roused  ?  I  leaned  forward, 
with  an  ear  to  the  panel,  and  listened  intently. 
Sapristi !  I  had  recked  aright.  The  trio  had 
passed. 

Whither,  I  cared  not  —  at  least  for  the 
moment.  A  plan  of  action  was  shaping  in  my 

75 


^    dfeoneteur  fc'en  ^Brocbctte.    ^ 

mind,  but  I  myself — Ma  Joi !  I  was  in  no 
hurry.  The  dinner  hour,  I  felt,  would  best  serve 
my  purpose,  and  in  the  meanwhile  I  determined, 
I  must  communicate  with  Tsabelle.  To  arrange 
a  meeting  was  by  no  means  difficult.  I  had  but 
to  send  for  her,  and  she  would  come.  Hence,  I 
pulled  the  silken  bell  cord,  unbarred  the  door 
and  then  resumed  my  seat  by  the  mammoth  fire 
place. 

"Your  Grace  rang?"  queried  the  valet  who 
responded. 

"  Even  so,"  I  replied,  on  such  good  terms 
with  myself  that  I  relaxed  my  dignity  a  little. 
Then  I  resumed :  "  Seek  you  the  lady  who  came 
here  at  sundown  —  er  —  Simon,  and  say  that  the 
Duke  awaits  her  here  in  this  room." 

Then  this  man  stared  also.  Ma  foi !  But 
they  were  a  staring  set  in  the  Chateau  Pommes 
de  Terre. 

"Well,  sirrah?"  I  queried,  sharply.  "What 
now  ?  " 

"An*  it  please  Your  Grace,"  stammered  the 
fellow,  who  was  evidently  a  pampered  family 
retainer.  "But  did  I  not  just  see  Your  Grace, 
with  the  lady  Your  Grace  just  named,  in  the  blue 
saloon  adjoining  the  great  hall?" 

"Zounds,  vassal  !"  I  thundered.  "But  this 
passeth  patience  !  Suppose  thou  didst?  Get 
thee  to  the  lady  with  my  message.  Hold !  "  — 
76 


an£>  IDufces. 


the  fellow's  chance  warning  had  stood  me  in 
good  stead  —  "  Deliver  it  not,  save  she  be  alone." 

The  will  of  a  Duke  in  his  own  chateau  is 
akin  to  the  law  of  the  land.  Obeyed  it  must  be. 
Isabelle  obeyed,  and  the  same  family  retainer 
ushered  her  into  my  presence.  Midway  between 
the  door  and  the  firelight,  she  stopped  apruptly, 
the  scorn  intended  for  Jules  Fagot  expressed  in 
every  line  of  her  marvelous  face.  So;  she  had 
naught  but  contempt  for  him,  duke  or  scullion, 
as  who  could  doubt  who  knew  her? 

"  You  sent  for  me  ?  "  she  asked  icily,  and 
then  with  magnificent  irony,  "Your  Grace  !" 

I  arose  from  my  seat  and  she  started 
slightly. 

"Aye,  Mademoiselle,"  was  my  measured 
reply.  "  I  sent  for  you,  't  is  true.  Your  cries  of 
the  Chateau  Demi  Tasse  are  answered  at  last, 
Mademoiselle  !  " 

"  What  mean  you  ?  "  she  gasped,  and  then, 
"Who  are  you?  Man  Dieu  !  Not  —  " 

"  D'en  Brochette,"  I  whispered,  tremulously. 
"Aye,  d'en  Brochette,  Mademoiselle,  risen  from 
the  well." 

An  instant  more,  and  she  was  in  my  arms, 
an  embrace  of  body  and  soul.  Then  into  her 
eager  ear,  I  poured  the  tale;  the  tale  of  Fagot 
and  the  tread-mill  ;  of  my  visit  to  the  department 
store  and  the  discovery  of  my  resemblance  to  the 


O'en  36rocbette. 


Duke;  of  my  coming  to  the  Chateau  and,  last, 
of  my  bold,  rash  plan,  in  which  she  must  help. 

"Banque  on  me,  my  brave  Brochette  !"  she 
cried,  passionately.  "Though  no  love  have  I 
for  the  Duke  des  Pommes  de  Terre,  to  whom 
unhappily  I  am  betrothed,  my  heart  bleeds  when 
I  think  of  the  wrong  these  ruffians  have  done 
him.  As  for  Jules  Fagot  —  " 

"As  for  Jules  Fagot,  Mademoiselle,"  said  I. 
"  Look  you  !  There  read  his  doom." 

As  I  spoke,  I  pointed  to  the  Portrait  of  a 
Gentleman  and  in  a  few  more  words,  for  time 
was  precious  now,  I  told  her  the  story  of  the 
misplaced  mole.  Then,  speaking  quickly,  I 
unfolded  my  plan. 

"To-night,"  said  I,  "when  you,  Mademoi 
selle,  dine  in  the  Great  Hall  of  the  Chateau  with 
Fagot  and  De  Brie,  take  my  appearance  on  the 
threshold  as  a  signal.  When  there  you  see  me, 
hesitate  not,  nor  waver,  but  with  steady,  unerring 
fingers,  reach  for  Fagot's  face  and  wrench  the 
mole  from  his  chin.  Do  this,  and  fear  not,  for 
men-at-arms  will  be  in  the  corridor,  ready  to  rush 
in  at  my  command  and  bear  both  Fagot  and  De 
Brie  to  the  lowermost  cell  of  the  donjon." 

Again  came  Isabelle's  passionate  assur 
ance,  but  trebly  intensified:  "  Banque  on  me,  my 
brave  Brochette.  Banque  on  me  !" 

Ma  foi  !     Can  you  not  for  yourselves  pic- 

7* 


&  - 


^    Dufcee  anD  Dufces.    v 

ture  it,  M'sieurs?  Myself,  with  the  Duke's  men- 
at-arms,  silent  in  the  gloom  of  the  corridor; 
Isabelle,  Fagot  and  De  Brie  seated  in  the  Great 
Hall  at  the  Duke's  table,  dining  off  the  Duke's 
plate  and  waited  on  by  the  Duke's  menials;  then, 
just  as  the  entree  was  served,  M'sieurs,  myself  on 
the  threshold,  rapier  in  hand,  and  Isabelle  — 

Ah,  Messieurs  !  The  sight  of  Isabelle  at 
that  magic  moment  shall  dwell  in  my  mental  gaze 
till  the  end  of  all.  Rising  calmly,  as  if  to  drain 
a  toast,  she  played  her  part  to  the  letter. 

"At  last,  gamin  of  the  gutter  !"  she  cried, 
flicking  the  spurious  mole  from  Fagot's  detest 
able  chin  and  into  his  brimming  wine  cup.  "At 
last,  gamin  of  the  gutter,  we  are  quits  ! " 

Fagot,  taken  aback  with  surprise  and  alarm, 
cowered  in  his  seat,  but  De  Brie,  scenting  dan 
ger,  arose  and  drew  his  blade. 

"  Diablc  /"  he  roared,  with  a  soldier's  oath. 
"  'T  is  the  finish  ! "  And  in  a  flash  of  the  eye 
both  he  and  Fagot  were  helpless  in  the  grip  of 
the  men-at-arms. 

"To  the  keep  with  them  !"  I  commanded, 
speaking  to  the  captain  of  the  guard.  "  And, 
mark  you,  bind  them  well  lest  they  escape.  To 
the  keep  with  them  ! " 

Scarce  were  the  words  uttered,  M'sieurs, 
when  a  furious  clatter,  a  rush  of  many  feet  and  a 
jingle  of  spurs,  arose  from  below.  I  glanced 

81 


V    flfcongieur  D'en  JSrocbette.    ^ 

fearfully  toward  the  door.  Isabella  stood  motion 
less.  Fagot  and  De  Brie,  despairing  though 
they  were,  raised  their  eyes  anew.  Then  came 
a  growing  volume  of  voices  that  caused  my  heart 
to  bound  wildly. 

"  C'est  le  Due  !   C'est  le  Due  /"  was  the  cry. 

A  final  clatter,  a  final  jingle  of  spurs,  a  final 
shout,  and  there,  standing  in  the  doorway,  even 
as  I  had  stood  five  minutes  before,  stood  the  real 
Duke  des  Pommes  de  Terre;  —  escaped,  released, 
I  know  not  which,  M'sieurs,  from  the  Cafe  de  la 
Paix  ! 


CHAPTER  VII. 
IN  WHICH  A  GREAT  HISTORICAL  MYSTERY  is  SOLVED. 

|H,  but  those  were  days  of  quick  think 
ing  and  often  of  quicker  action. 
Dynasties  were  moved  by  the  sud 
den  impulses  of  most  emergent 
moments,  and  such  a  moment  had 
arrived  for  Huevos  Pasada  Par  Agua,  and  foregad, 
it  was  not  his  skin  so  much  as  his  neck  that  stood 
in  peril.  Imagine  it,  M'sieur.  Here  was  I  mas 
querading  as  the  real  Duke  des  Pommes  de  Terre, 
confronted  by  the  man  himself,  who  had  been 
mocked,  put  upon,  deprived  of  his  liberty,  and 
all  for  what  ?  Because,  forsooth,  he  had  declined 
to  enter  into  a  conspiracy  against  the  Crown  itself ! 
I  could  already  feel  the  noose  tightened  about 
my  neck,  could  hear  the  squeak  of  the  gallows 
steps  as  I  mounted  them  for  my  last  appearance 
on  any  stage  —  and  yet,  my  word  on  it  as  a 
gentleman  and  a  Pate  de  Foie  Gras,  more  intol 
erable  to  me  was  the  thought  of  the  loss  of  Isa- 
belle,  whom  I  had  come  to  love  passionately. 
What  were  home,  father  and  mother,  what  was 
family,  what  were  the  innumerable  fiancees  I  had 
left  behind  me  in  Brittany,  Normandy,  Provence 


•y   flfeonsteur  fc'en  JSrocbettc.    ^ 

and  old  Castile  to  this  new  love  that  had 
awakened  my  heart?  Nothing,  I  swore  by  the 
sacred  helmet  of  Vin  Blanc  himself. 

"Brochette  is  dead,"  I  murmured;  "long 
live  the  Duke  des  Pommes  de  Terre !  " 

Then  aloud,  quick  as  a  flash,  fixing  a  steely 
gray  eye  upon  the  real  Duke,  I  asked  sternly : 

"Your  errand,  Sirrah?" 

"What  would  you  do?"  gasped  Isabelle, 
sinking  back  in  a  fainting  condition.  "  Be  not 
too  rash,  my  Huevos  !" 

"Fear  not,  sweetheart,"  I  whispered,  hur 
riedly.  "Only  be  staunch  and  true  to  me." 

"Till  death!"  she  murmured,  revived  by 
my  unfaltering  courage,  and  drawing  herself  up 
proudly  and  glancing  haughtily  at  the  real  Duke. 

"My  errand?"  screamed  the  latter,  taken 
completely  off  his  poise  by  my  calmness.  "  My 
errand,  in  my  own  Chateau  ?  Venire  Saint  Verdi 
gris,  but  this  is  too  much  !  " 

"  'T  is  well  to  ask  too  much,"  I  retorted, 
"  since  the  too  little  that  one  gets  may  yet  be 
more  than  enough.  Your  own  Chateau,  M'sieur  ?  " 
I  added.  "What  lunacy  is  this?'' 

"Lunacy?"  he  shouted.  "Aye,  my  own 
Chateau.  Is  not  this  the  Chateau  Pommes  de 
Terre  Au  Gratin?" 

"  Yes  —  what  then  ?  "  I  demanded,  with  a 
contemptuous  smile. 

84 


is  Solved, 


"What  then?"  roared  Pommes  de  Terre. 
"  Now,  by  our  Lady  of  Gorgonzola,  this  is  again 
too  much  !  " 

"This  is  twice  too  much,"  I  acquiesced, 
seeing  from  his  growing  wrath  that  I  held  the 
affair  well  in  hand. 

"But  I  —  I  am  the  Duke  des  Pommes  de 
Terre  —  am  I  not?"  he  cried,  hoarsely  gutteral 
in  his  speech. 

"  Laugh  —  laugh  as  you  value  my  life  !  "  I 
whispered  hurriedly  in  my  Isabelle's  ear.  "This 
is  the  crisis." 

And  even  as  I  spoke  the  tinkling  ripple  of 
her  laughter  filled  the  hall. 

"Ha,  ha!"  I  too  burst  forth.  "A  merry 
jest,  my  Lords  and  Gentlemen.  He  the  Duke 
des  Pommes  de  Terre,  setting  up  his  claim  in  the 
face  of  me  your  overlord  and  Prince  by  birth  ! 
By  the  Beard  of  my  Ancestors,  but  thou  art  a 
brave  clown,  Sirrah,  thus  to  enter  the  very  ban 
quet  hall  of  the  Royal  Chateau  and  set  up  so 
strange  a  claim." 

The  effect  was  instantaneous.  The  Duke's 
guard  and  the  castle  retainers  had  already  shown 
a  disconcerting  uncertainty  and  it  required  but  a 
feather's  weight  to  turn  the  scale  for  or  against 
me,  but  the  laughter  of  Isabelle  and  our  bluff 
retort  made  for  a  successful  issue  out  of  my 
present  embarrassments. 

85 


^   .Monsieur  D'en  asrocbette.    -y 

"Merry  jest,  sayst  thou?"  roared  the  Duke, 
leaping  toward  me,  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his 
sword. 

"Aye,"  said  I,  my  brow  furrowing  into  a 
frown;  "but,  by  my  halidome,  see  that  thou 
carryest  it  not  too  far  or  else  will  I  have  thee 
strung  high  in  yonder  orchard  close,  even  as  did 
my  venerated  ancestor  Louis  the  Eleventh  of 
sacred  memory  with  those  who  did  offend  him." 

These  words  were  spoken  with  a  deliberate 
intent  to  offend  my  new  enemy  and  at  the  same 
time  to  impress  the  arrayed  witnesses  to  an 
astonishing  scene.  It  had  the  desired  effect, 
though  after  a  fashion  I  had  not  reckoned  on, 
for  the  Duke  des  Pommes  de  Terre,  enraged 
beyond  control,  now  leaped  upon  the  table  and 
waving  his  rapier  high  above  him,  gave  voice  to 
the  battle-cry  of  his  clan. 

"  A  moi,  les  Pommes  Souffles  —  a  moi  /  " 

It  was  a  brave  act,  and  as  the  men-at-arms, 
halberds  drawn  and  buskins  primed  to  the  muzzle, 
thronged  in  from  the  corridors  without,  my  heart 
sank,  for  their  force  was  overwhelming,  and  there 
sat  I,  caught  like  a  rat  in  a  corner,  with  no  hope 
of  getting  out  of  it  save  by  the  use  of  what  wits 
the  patron  saint  of  a  d'en  Brochette  had  given 
him. 

"  We  are  lost  ! "  moaned  Isabelle ;  and,  by 
my  faith,  but  for  the  despair  in  that  dear  voice  I 


Then  look  at  yon  pretender gentlemen!" 

87 


•^   /HSgeterg  is  SolveD.   ^ 

believe  we  all  would  have  been.  'T  was  that 
alone  that  spurred  me  on  to  redoubled  effort. 

Raising  my  hand  and  summoning  all  the 
imperiousness  of  a  masterful  nature  to  my  aid  I 
commanded  silence. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  I,  as  the  din  of  many 
voices  subsided  and  some  semblance  of  order 
had  been  restored.  "  Gentlemen  —  I  beg  of  you 

—  one  moment   ere   we  proceed  to  stern  meas 
ures.     A  question  of  identity  has  arisen  between 
that  —  er  —  that     gentleman     and    myself.      He 
claims  that  he  is  I,  when  by  a  single  glance  you 
can  see  that  he  is  not  I." 

"  C'esf  vral  —  tres  rrai/"  murmured  one  or 
two  of  the  hotter  heads  who  had  come  uncom 
fortable  close. 

"£ie>i,"  I  continued,  "now  let  us  reason 
this  out  and  if  I  am  in  the  wrong  let  me  bear 
my  punishment.  The  Duke  des  Pommes  de 
Terre,  gentlemen,  is  a  gentleman  above  all." 

"  He  is  !  He  is  ! "  came  shouts  from  all 
parts  of  the  room. 

"Then  look  at  yon  pretender,  as  he  stands 
sword  in  hand  upon  the  dining  table,  gentlemen 

—  upon  the  dining  table,  mark  you,  —  his  left  foot 
planted  upon  a  golden   fruit  compote,  his  right 
crushing  beneath  its  weight  the  exquisite  confec 
tion  which  our  chef  had  prepared  for  this  lady 
and  myself,"  —  and  by  a  graceful  wave  of  my 


•^    /foonsfeur  D'en  JBrocbettc.    -^ 

hand  I  called  their  attention  to  Isabelle,  who 
with  the  high  color  mounting  to  her  cheeks 
looked  more  beautiful  th'an  ever.  "  Is  that,  my 
lords  and  gentlemen,  the  behavior  of  a  Prince  of 
blood  ?  Is  it  the  act  of  a  gentleman  to  spring 
upon  the  milk-white  napery  of  a  Ducal  board 
while  yet  his  heels  are  clad  in  the  boots  in  which 
'he  has  travelled  the  muddy  roads  of  France  ?  " 

A  hoarse  murmur  of  disapproval  fell  upon 
the  true  Duke's  ears.  Verily,  the  battle  was 
going  my  way. 

"  Look  at  his  spurs  ! "  I  continued  with 
vehemence.  "The  steel  point  of  the  right  spur 
in  his  mad  flight  to  this  strange  position  in 
which  you  see  him  has  torn  the  gold  lace  from 
the  cloak  of  my  good  friend  the  Marquis  of 
Hors  D'Ouvre.  Upon  the  left  you  will  see  the 
socket  of  yonder  candelabrum  which  he  has 
crushed  out  of  all  semblance  to  the  lovely  handi 
work  of  Benvenuto  Cellini  which  once  graced 
my  table  —  and  all  this  work  of  destruction,  this 
clamor  and  this  din,  this  invitation  to  a  brawl 
unworthy  of  the  tap-room  —  this  gentleman  in 
dulged  in  in  the  presence  of  this  fair  lady  —  my 
fiancee  —  your  future  Duchess." 

The  turmoil  that  ensued  was  indescribable. 
The  Duke,  seeing  the  tide  turning  against  him 
and  his  cause  hopeless,  since  by  no  peradventure 
wa's  there  any  gainsaying  the  justice  of  my  scorn- 

90 


^    /Hasten?  is  Solved,   -y 

ful  indictment  of  his  breeding,  albeit  he  was  in 
truth  better  bred  than  1,  jumped  madly  from  the 
table  and  was  making  his  way  to  the  door. 

"A  la  lanterne ! "  cried  the  now  thoroughly 
aroused  retainers,  surging  about  him  threaten 
ingly. 

"Nay,  gentlemen  !"  I  cried,  "no  violence. 
The  man  is  mad,  bring  him  hither." 

"  Noble  Brochette  ! "  whispered  Isabelle 
with  a  soft  "pressure  of  my  hand  which  set  my 
whole  being  to  tingling.  "You  have  spared  his 
life." 

"  It  shall  not  be  death,"  I  continued. 
"'T  ^Yas  but  a  madman's  prank." 

"The  mask  !"  they  cried.  "The  iron  mask 
and  the  Bastille,  that  he  may  never  again  de 
ceive  us  by  his  marvellous  likeness  to  your 
grace.  The  mask  and  the  Bastille  ! " 

It  was  an  inspiration,  and  I  must  confess 
my  heart  leapt  wildly  at  the  thought  of  this  easy 
and  permanent  way  out  of  my  poverty  and 
predicament.  The  real  Duke,  his  countenance 
forever  hid  within  the  cold  steel  mask,  could 
ne'er  again  demand  recognition,  and  once 
clapped  into  the  Bastille  as  an  enemy  to  the 
King,  what  hope  was  there  for  him  ?  And  yet  I 
hesitated,  for  the  poor  Prince  had  never  injured 
me,  was  even  now  demanding  only  .his  rights  — 
and  again  I  looked  on  the  face  of  fair  Isabelle 


•y    jftfconeteur  5'cn  SBrocbette.   -^ 

and  scruple  fled.  To  abandon  this  only  way 
out  of  our  dreadful  troubles  was  to  abandon 
Isabelle  to  him,  and  myself,  unwittingly  forced 
by  the  tide  of  circumstances  into  all  my  recent 
actions,  to  the  gallows,  thereby  placing  the  first 
blot  on  the  escutcheon  of  a  proud  and  noble 
family.  Moreover  't  was  but  an  accident  of  birth 
that  made  me  a  Pate  de  Foie  Gras  and  him  a 
Pommes  de  Terre.  Had  my  grandmother  mar 
ried  her  first  betrothed  instead  of  eloping  with 
my  grandfather,  should  I  not  have  been  born  to 
the  title?  'T  was  merely  nature  insisting  upon 
my  destiny,  and  I  yielded.  Do  you  blame  me, 
M'sieurs? 

"Aye,  the  mask  !"  I  cried;  "but  the  Bastille, 
that  is  as  my  uncle  the  King  shall  say.  The 
mask,  the  mask." 

The  ugly  instrument  was  brought  at  once 
from  the  armory  and  without  more  ado  was 
placed  upon  the  head  of  him  who  but  yesterday 
was  the  proudest  Prince  in  all  France,  he  pro 
testing  and  fighting  valiantly  the  while,  but 
against  overwhelming  odds. 

"To  the  donjon  with  him  to  await  the 
King's  pleasure  !"  I  cried.  "Meanwhile,  saddle 
my  horse,  Simon,  and  I  will  ride  to  Paris  and 
lay  the  question  before  his  majesty  at  once." 

With  cheers  for  myself,  maledictions  for  the 
victim  of  my  wit,  and  many  a  salutation  of 


9? 


(5 


respect  to  my  future  Duchess,  the  men-at-arms 
and  other  retainers,  little  suspecting  the  real 
truth,  hustled  the  unhappy  Prince  below.  Simon 
sallied  forth  to-  saddle  a  fresh  steed  for  my  jour 
ney  to  Paris,  and  thinking  myself  at  last  alone 
with  Isabelle  I  turned  to  greet  her. 

Imagine  my  consternation,  M'sieurs,  to  find 
her  gone,  and  standing  between  me  and  the 
doorway  to  her  apartment  no  less  a  person  than 
the  Chevalier  de  Brie,  Captain  of  the  Camem- 
bert  Guards. 

"At  last,  my  Lord  Duke  !"  he  hissed 
ironically.  "At  last  we  meet." 

"The  Duchess!"    I  cried.      "And  Fagot?" 

His  answer  was  a  mocking  laugh. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IN  WHICH  THE  QHEVALIER  DE  BRIE  CONNECTS 
WITH  WHAT  WAS  COMING  TO  HIM. 

ILUSHED  with  victory,  insolent  with 
success,  I  surveyed  the  Chevalier 
de  Brie,  who  barred  my  way  to 
Isabelle,  with  immeasurable,  un 
fathomable  contempt. 
"Venire  de  skate /"  I  cried,  laying  my  hand 
upon  a  bell  cord.  "I  have  but  to  pull  this, 
jackal,  and  your  bones  will  bleach  through  the 
centuries  at  the  bottom  of  the  chateau's  oubliette. 
Stand  aside,  hyena,  or  I  will  summon  the 
guard." 

"Feigling!"  hissed  the  Captain  of  the 
Camembert  Carabiniers,  his  face  a  purplish 
gray.  "Feigling!" 

The  epithet  stung  me  like  a  whiplash,  all 
the  more  because  't  was  couched  in  German, 
a  language,  M'sieurs,  I  have  detested  ever  since 
(if  you  will  pardon  the  anachronism)  the  dis 
tressing  affair  of  Alsace-Lorraine. 

I  stayed  my  hand  for  a  few  moments  of 
indecision,  then  flung  the  bell-cord  scornfully 
from  me. 

"No,  jackal,"  quoth   I,   "I  shall   not  sum- 


•^    DC  .tBrie  Connects,    ^f- 

mon  the  guard.  It  would  be  said  that  I  feared 
you  —  you  who  are  accounted  the  lustiest  bravo 
in  all  France.  Instead" — my  words  were 
tipped  with  steel  —  "I  shall  kill  you  with  your 
favorite  weapon.  You  that  have  lived  by  the 
sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword.  Follow  me ! " 

I  preceded  the  bravo  to  the  small  dining- 
room  and  rang  for  lights  and  food. 

"My  dear  Chevalier,"  I  said  mockingly, 
and  with  that  icy  politeness  which  I  knew  so 
well  how  to  assume,  "when  the  new  hour  begins 
I  shall  spit  you  like  a  well-done  potato.  Mean 
time,  pray  accept  my  hospitality.  We  shall 
fight  much  better  on  a  filled  stomach,  I  assure 
you.  If  you  remember,  we  did  but  come  to  the 
entree  when  our  dinner  was  interrupted  by  that 
unhappy  man  on  whom  the  Bastille  gates  will 
soon  forever  close." 

"Saint  Paty  du  Clam .'"  growled  de  Brie 
cavernously,  "  thou  art  a  greater  villain  than 
Fagot.  He  did  but  detain  the  Duke  in  the 
wine  cellar  of  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix,  whilst 
you  .  .  .  . "  He  drained  his  wine  goblet  at 
a  gulp. 

"A  Brochette  does  not  do  things  by  halves, 
M'sieur,"  said  I,  with  a  glittering  smile,  and 
signed  to  the  serving  man  to  refill  the  goblets. 
"When  once  a  Brochette  puts  his  hand  to  the 
sword  and  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel  he  does  not 

97 


•^    flfconsieur  £>'en  3Brocbette.    -y- 

descend  the  ladder.  What  think  you  of  that  for 
a  metaphor?  Ha!" 

"  Bah  ! "  cried  de  Brie,  attacking  a  capon. 

"When  I  have  killed  you  and  Fagot  my 
secret  will  be  safe,"  I  continued.  "  History  will 
pretend  that  the  Man  with  the  Iron  Mask  was 
Count  Matthioli,  or  General  de  Bulonde,  or  the 
Duke  of  Vermondois,  or  that  soldier  of  fortune 
the  gallant  Marechiel,  or  I  know  not  else.  But 
none  shall  penetrate  his  real  identity  until  are 
given  to  the  world  the  incomparable  memoirs  of 
Robert  Gaston  de  Launay  Alphonse,  Count  Pate 
de  Foie  Gras  and  Marquis  Presumptive  of  the 
Estates  of  Pollio  Grille  in  Spain." 

"  Bah ! "  said  de  Brie,  draining  his  glass. 

"  Eat,  drink  and  be  merry,  my  friend,  for  in 
the  next  hour  you  die ! "  I  pointed  to  a  Swiss 
clock  on  the  wall,  ticking  off  the  inexorable 
minutes. 

"  Bah !  "  said  the  Carabinier  again,  and  rose 
to  his  feet.  "Come,  let  us  to  it.  Saint  Drey 
fus!  I  shall  prod  thee  as  full  of  holes  as  a 
colander." 

"Be  seated!"  I  thundered.  De  Brie  drop 
ped  back  in  his  chair,  scowling  darkly.  "You 
are  but  a  churlish  guest,  ma  foi!  Restrain  your 
temper;  you  will  fight  the  better  for  it.  And  try 
one  of  these  cigars;  they  are  excellent.  Not  that 
you  will  not  smoke  in  the  next  world,"  I  added, 

98 


•^    De  .tBrie  Connects.    -^ 

maliciously.  This  in  the  days  I  write  of  was 
accounted  a  very  good  jest. 

With  an  ill  grace  De  Brie  lighted  a  perfecto 
and  flung  himself  back  in  his  chair.  "I  am  no 
entertainer,  your  Grace,"  said  he,  with  ironic 
emphasis  upon  the  title.  "  I  am  but  a  plain 
fighting  man,  and,  'fore  gad,  I  fret  to  be  at  the 
game  that  I  may  slit  thy  soul." 

"The  soul,  Chevalier,  is  indestructible,  un- 
slittable.  Were  there  time,"  I  glanced  again  at 
the  clock',  "I  should  discourse  to  thee  about  the 
soul.  As  't  is,  thou  'rt  in  a  fair  way  to  know 
more  about  it  than  I  can  teach  thee.  What, 
ho!  more  lights!"  I  commanded.  "And  turn 
on  the  music." 

A  company  of  minstrels  entered,  and  rang 
ing  themselves  in  a  semi-circle  sang  songs  of  the 
sunny  South ;  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  hour 
we  smoked  in  silence,  De  Brie  moody,  myself 
wholly  engrossed  in  the  music. 

The  Swiss  clock  struck  the  hour,  and  De 
Brie  sprang  to  his  feet.  I  signed  to  the  serving 
men  to  remove  the  table  and  other  furniture  and 
then  to  close  the  doors  upon  us. 

"Will  you  measure  the  swords,  M'sieur?" 
said  I. 

De  Brie  drew  a  tape  from  his  doublet  and 
stretched  it  along  his  blade.  "  Six  feet  seven 
inches, "  he  announced. 

99 


^    Monsieur  yen  36rocbette.    ^ 

" Ma  foi .'"  I  cried,  "why  not  carry  a  spear? 
My  rapier  is  scant  six  feet.  However,  't  will  serve." 

I  unfastened  my  pourpoint,  loosened  my 
suspenders  and  removed  my  boots,  De  Brie 
following  suit. 

"  And  now,  M'sieur,"  I  remarked,  testing 
the  tip  of  my  rapier,  "is  there  any  particular 
place  you  would  like  to  be  run  through  ? " 

"  Bah ! "  growled  the  Chevalier,  and  the 
blades  met  hissingly. 

The  Captain  of  the  Carabiniers  attacked 
like  a  sea-lion  bereft  of  its  young,  but  finding 
me  a  wall  of  steel  he  grew  more  careful  and 
attentive.  For  my  part  I  had  never  before 
encountered  so  stubborn  a  blade,  and  I  give 
you  my  word,  M'sieurs,  we  fought  an  hour  by 
the  Swiss  clock  without  either  gaining  the  ad 
vantage  of  the  other. 

"Saint  Paty  du  Clam  \"  puffed  De  Brie, 
leaning  on  his  blade,  "  you  fight  like  the  devil, 
M'sieur." 

"A  bottle  of  wine,  Chevalier?"  I  suggested. 
"We  have  all  the  time  there  is." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  De  Brie,  falling  again 
into  position.  "Let  us  finish.  A  la  mort!" 

"  You  have  some  reason  for  your  haste ! " 
I  cried,  pierced  by  a  sudden  suspicion.  A  malig 
nant  smile  traversed  De  Erie's  coarse  features  as 
the  supple  blades  joined. 


'  Six  feet  seven  inches,"  he  announced. 
101 


•y-    DC  JGric  Connects.    *y+ 

"What  devil's  work  is  afoot?"  I  wondered. 
In  my  zeal  politely  to  entertain  and  kill  the  bravo 
I  had  forgotten  my  beauteous  mistress  Isabelle, 
who  might  even  now  be  victim  of  another  hell 
ish  plot. 

"Jackal!"  I  hissed.      "Where  is  Fagot?" 

I)e  Erie's  reply  was  a  fierce  lunge,  which  I 
parried  in  my  usual  neat  and  nobby  fashion. 

"Venire  de  blanc  mange!"  I  cried.  "You 
are  in  haste,  M'sieur.  Trcs  bien,  you  shall  be 
satisfied." 

I  became  a  very  whirlwind  of  attack,  driv 
ing  the  bravo  before  me  like  an  autumn  leaf 
before  an  equinoctial  gale.  A  la  tierce,  a  la  carte, 
a  la  table  d ' hote,  my  blade  forked  like  lightning 
through  his  guard,  puncturing  him  now  here, 
now  there,  until  he  streamed  like  the  colander  he 
vaunted  he  should  make  of  me. 

"  They  say,  M'sieur,"  I  mocked,  as  I  en 
larged  a  hole  in  his  chest,  "that  lightning  does 
not  strike  twice  in  the  same  place ;  but,  voila !" 
—  I  ran  him  through  the  third  time,  and  he  fell 
crashingly  on  the  tessellated  floor. 

I  pulled  the  bellcord,  but  not  a  servitor 
responded.  I  flung  open  the  doors.  A  hoarse 
murmur  came  distantly  to  my  ears. 

'•  Sacre  nom  de  plume .'"  I  exclaimed,  awed 
by  a  feeling  of  impending  disaster. 

I   turned  back  for  a  final  look  at   De  Brie. 

103 


^    /Monsieur  fc'en  JBrocbette.    ^ 

He  had  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  was 
regarding  me  with  a  last  malignant  smile.  His 
countenance  was  contorted  with  hatred. 

Bang! 

A  terrific  explosion  rocked  the  chateau.  The 
walls  of  the  rooms  fell  out,  the  roof  fell  in.  By  a 
miracle  I  escaped  being  crushed  by  the  rain  of 
stone  and  timber.  A  hollow  groan  told  me  that 
De  Brie  had  not  been  so  fortunate.  It  was  pitch 
dark,  so  I  could  not  locate  him.  But  I  shouted : 

"  De  Brie,  De  Brie,  what  has  happened? 
Speak,  De  Brie!" 

A  rattling  laugh  answered  me. 

"  The  debris  speaks  for  itself,"  the  carabinier 
jested  in  his  last  moments.  "Fagot  has  blown  up 
the  chateau  !  Saint  Dreyfus .'  Half  of  it  is  on 
my  chest-" 

"Courage!"  I  cried,  and  guided  by  his 
groans  I  reached  his  side. 

A  lurid  glare  had  replaced  the  Cimmerian 
gloom.  The  ruins  of  the  chateau  were  in  flames. 

The  unfortunate  De  Brie  was  pinned  down 
by  an  enormous  block  of  stone.  This  I  tossed 
aside,  and  hastily  examined  the  bravo's  condition. 

Nothing  could  be  done  for  him,  and  so  I 
informed  him. 

"  Aferci,  Sir  Doctor,  and  search  my  pockets 
for  your  fee,"  he  sneered.  "  Ventre  de  petit  pois  ! 
I  had  this  coming  to  me.  Adieu,  your  Grace  !"' 


•^    S)c  38rie  Connects.    ^ 

With  this  last  fling  at  my  ducal  pretensions  the 
bravo  fell  back  —  dead. 

Now  to  save  myself  and  the  beauteous  Tsa- 
belle.  It  was  high  time.  The  flames  were  crack 
ling  all  about  me,  and  above  the  roar  of  them  1 
fancied  I  heard  the  exultant  laugh  of  the  detest 
able  Fagot. 


107 


CHAPTER   IX. 

IN  WHICH  THERE  ARE  LIVE  AND  DEAD  ONES. 

[ow  I  ESCAPED  death,  M'sieurs,will  ever 

to 'me  be  a  mystery.      Mon  Dieu! 

The  horror  of  that  fearful  instant  ! 

From    light    to    pitchy    blackness; 

from  security  to  utter  chaos;  from 
laughter,  music  and  feasting  to  groans  and  horror 
indescribable;  from  earth  to  eternity;  and  all, 
M'sieurs,  in  one  brief  moment. 

How  much  of  the  Chateau  was  still  intact, 
how  much  of  it  had  fallen  I  knew  not,  and  no 
mind  had  I  at  the  time  to  ascertain.  My  first 
thought,  my  all  absorbing  thought,  was  of  Isa- 
belle:  Where  was  she?  Had  she,  like  myself, 
been  spared  by  a  miracle  ;  or  was  she,  like  the 
Chevalier  de  Brie,  a  lifeless  —  ?  Mon  Dieu! 
Even  now,  and  years  afterward,  I  shudder  as  I 
think  and  tell  of  it. 

I  knew  not  then  as  I  staggered  to  my  feet 
and  stumbled  dizzily  for  the  first  few  steps  that 
the  doings  of  the  night  were  far  from  over.  I 
knew  not  then,  what  is  more,  that  the  wretched 
Fagot's  cowardly  crime  would  set  a  new  scene 
in  the  drama  of  D'en  Brochette;  that  ere  the 


^    Xive  anD  Deafc  ©nes.   -y- 

night  was  through,  I  would  l)e  a  witness  of 
developments  impossible  had  the  stones  of 
Chateau  Pommes  de  Terre  remained,  as  they 
had  been  before,  one  atop  the  other.  Lastly,  J 
recked  not  that  for  the  time  being  even  thoughts 
of  Isabelle  would  be  driven  from  my  mind;  only 
to  return,  however,  a  thousand  fold  on  the  strength 
of  that  which  I  was  to  see  and  hear.  Paniien  ! 
M'sieurs,  that  was  a  night  ! 

Shaken,  bewildered,  but  still  with  a  sense  of 
direction,  1  felt  my  way  o'er  a  mass  of  building 
material  to  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  De 
Brie  and  I,  but  minutes  before,  had  supped  and 
fought.  Through  a  shattered  window,  a  ray  of 
moonlight  shone,  and  creeping  inch  by  inch 
toward  the  center  of  the  floor,  it  bathed  the  face 
of  the  dead  De  Brie,  fixed  and  grim,  in  a  ghastly 
hue.  Some  wreckage  from  the  table  had  fallen 
on  the  Chevalier's  breast  -  plate,  and  peering 
closer,  an  upturned  dish  of  Glace  de  Peches  a  la 
Creme  I  perceived  it  to  be. 

"By  Saint  Entremet!"  I  muttered,  laugh 
ing  the  while  a  low,  unearthly  laugh.  "Thou 
hast,  indeed,  thy  desserts,  Chevalier.  Sucre  nom 
de  diable  !  What  is  that  ?  " 

Straight  before  me,  M'sieurs,  mingling  the 
fitful  light  of  a  candle  with  the  feeble  illuming  of 
a  waning  moon,  I  saw  a  portly  female  of  middle 
age.  Her  dress,  of  a  whitish  material  and  of  a 


"V    Monsieur  yen  JBrocbette.    ^ 

strange  bygone  fashion,  was  much  disordered. 
Her  hair,  likewise.  But  her  eyes — paibleu!  — 
they  burned  and  flashed  with  a  fire  unquench 
able.  In  her  right  hand  she  carried  what  I 
judged  to  be  a  mahogany  table-leg.  In  her  left, 
high  above  her  head,  evidently  to  guide  her 
through  the  mazes  of  the  chateau  on  some 
ghostly  quest,  she  held  a  single  candle. 

Easily  could  I  have  kept  from  her  sight  had 
the  thought  occurred  to  me,  or  the  need  required 
it,  but  so  struck  was  I  with  the  unlocked  for 
spectacle  —  a  spectre-like  female,  solitary  and 
silent,  treading  her  way  at  midnight  through  a 
ruined  chateau  —  that  for  the  moment  I  gave 
no  thought  to  self  at  all;  and  thus  it  was  she 
saw  me  when  but  inches  of  floor  space  were 
between  us. 

For  perchance  four  seconds,  she  gleamed, 
glowed,  glared  at  me  with  those  demon  eyes  and 
then  — 

'•At  last  !"  she  hissed. 

"At  last  !  !"    she  cried. 

"At  last,  Gaspard  Henri  Pierre,  Duke  des 
Pommes  de  Terre,"  she  was  screaming  now,  and 
her  voice  broke  twice  with  vindictive  passion. 
"At  last,  after  fourteen  years,  we  face  each  other. 
Who  knows  better  than  I  the  purpose  of  this 
plot  of  plots?  Who  knows  better  than  I  whom 
you  designed  to  kill  —  aye,  to  kill  —  when  with 


•^    live  anD  2Dea&  ©nee.    *y* 

giant-powder  you  achieved  this  wreck  of  wrecks  ? 
Who  knows,  better  than  I,  knave  of  knaves,  that 
your  shameless  schemes  are  frustrated?  I  am 
free  once  more.  The  explosion,  which  basely 
you  planned  and  executed,  hoping  thereby  for 
the  death  of  your  lawful  and  wedded  wife,  did 
but  burst  asunder  the  walls  of  her  secret  prison, 
and  she  —  she  —  it  left  unscathed.  Varlet,  this 
is  but  the  first  ! " 

With  a  swiftness  and  suddenness  remark 
able  in  one  so  aged,  and  so  liberally  endowed 
with  averdupois,  this  foaming,  fuming  female, 
this  hag  of  Hades,  drew  back  the  table-leg  which 
she  carried  and  brought  it  down  full  force  in  line 
with  my  unclad  head.  With  an  oath,  I  dodged, 
but  at  that,  the  thing  descended  on  my  shoulder, 
and  half  felled  me. 

"  Ventre  Moulin  Rouge,  woman  ! "  I  cursed. 
"What  fiend's  deed  is  this?  Who  are  you  — 
speak  ! " 

Then  ere  she  could  answer,  the  dame's  fren 
zied  words  flashed  o'er  me  and  behold  !  I  knew. 
"His  lawful  and  wedded  wife."  Whose  for 
sooth  ?  Why,  who  else  but  the  Duke  des  Pommes 
de  Terre,  M'sieurs.  He,  and  no  other.  And  this 
woman,  the  Duchess,  if  her  words  were  true,  had 
been  walled  up  a  prisoner  in  her  own  domicile 
for  fourteen  years ;  the  Duke,  meanwhile,  as  a 
bachelor  or  a  widower  —  I  knew  not  which  he 

"3 


•<%?•   /Hbonsicur  ft'en  .iCiocbcttc.    'V 

called  himself —  having  gaily  gadded  from  one 
end  of  France  to  the  other. 

"And  thrice  spit  him  ! "  thought  I,  in  a  rage, 
"betrothed  at  this  moment,  if  he  be  still  alive,  to 
the  virtuous,  the  incomparable  Isabelle  ! " 

Thanking  the  fates  for  their  timely  inter 
ruption,  I  made  up  my  mind  instanter.  This 
masquerading  should  cease. 

"Madame,"  I  cried.  "Your  Grace — I 
crave  your  pardon,  but  I  am  not  your  husband." 

"Not  my  husband?"  she  queried,  incredu 
lously.  "Not  the  Duke?  Then  who,  i'  the 
devil's  name,  are  ye  ? " 

She  was  fingering  the  table-leg  again  and 
discreetly  I  drew  back. 

"'T  is  even  so,"  she  said  at  length,  after 
scanning  me  well  in  the  candle  light,  "you  are 
not  he.  You  are  a  younger  man.  But  so  like, 
so  like." 

"See,"  added  I.  "Reck  you  that  His 
Grace,  your  beloved  spouse,  was.  possessed 
among  other  things  of  a  mole?  Behold!"  — 
and  with  a  deft  movement,  I  flicked  the  putty 
from  my  chin. 

"  Enough  ! "  cried  the  Duchess,  "  I  am  quite 
convinced.  Deprive  yourself  of  nothing  more, 
M'sieur,  I  beg."  And  then,  in  something  of  the 
shrewish  voice  in  which  I  first  had  heard  her 
speak  —  "But  if  you  are  not  the  Duke,  in  truth, 
114 


y    Xive  anD  2>eaD  ©ties,   y 

then  where  is  //<"  ?  Where  is  the  prop  of  my 
declining  years?  My  soul's  affinity?  Answer! 
But  do  not  tell  me  he  is  dead." 

She  was  screaming  again  and  her  screams 
echoed  and  re-echoed  through  the  dark  and 
silent  chateau  —  silent  save  only  for  the  drop, 
from  battlements  to  wine  vaults,  of  an  occa 
sional  girder. 

"Your  Grace,"  I  began,  bowing  low,  "My 
lord,  the  Duke,  to  the  best  of  my  poor  knowl 
edge  and  belief,  is  alive  and  fairly  well ;  though, 
it  may  be,  a  trifle  shaken  up." 

"  For  that,  the  Saints  be  glorified  ! "  she 
cried.  "New  zest  and  keen  hath  it  added  to  the 
chase.  And  I  shall  find  him  —  where,  M'sieur?" 

"  In  the  bottom-most  cell  of  the  Keep,  your 
Grace." 

"Whither  he  went  to  escape  destruction,  I 
doubt  not,  whilst  some  of  his  minions  blew  up 
the  Chateau.  Blew  up  this  chateau  !  —  Hah  ! 
the  wretch  of  wretches  !  —  which,  mark  me, 
M'sieur,  he  has  held  for  years  in  my  name  !  On 
to  the  keep.  And  you,  M'sieur,  take  you  the 
light  and  prithee  lead  the  way." 

She  was  raving  again  and  twitching  the 
table-leg. 

Over  piles  of  debris,  over  beams  and  tim 
ber,  over  furniture  in  hopeless  chaos  and  floors 
bestrewn  with  stone  and  mortar,  we  took  our 


•^    monsieur  fc'en  JSrocbette.    ^ 

painful  way  to  the  gloom  of  the  donjon.  Not  a 
trace  of  a  guard,  alive  or  dead,  was  to  be  seen, 
but  there,  almost  under  our  feet,  as  we  crept 
cautiously  along,  I  saw  with  a  thrill  —  shall  I 
say  a  thrill  of  triumph,  M'sieurs?  —  the  body  of 
Jules  Fagot. 

"'Tis  he!:>  shrieked  the  Duchess,  as  she 
came  within  the  circle  of  light.  "  Killed  !  Killed ! 
And  I  not  by  his  side  ! " 

The  Duchess  was  sobbing  now. 

"Ah,  M'sieur,"  she  added,  grimly,  I  thought, 
"in  my  present  mood,  five  minutes  by  his  side 
would  have  been  quite  sufficient,  both  for  him 
and  for  me." 

Should  I  tell  this  woman,  pondered  I, 
that  once  again  she  was  mistaken  ?  Should 
Fagot  be  honored,  even  in  death,  by  the  atten 
tions  of  a  Duchess?  I  hesitated,  M'sieurs;  and 
then,  as  if  expressly  to  dispel  my  doubts,  we 
heard  a  cry. 

"A  moi,  les  Pommcs  Souffles,  a  >noi.f"  were 
the  muffled  words.  The  voice  came  from  the 
depths  of  the  keep,  at  the  entrance  to  which  we 
stood,  and  I  recognized  it  at  once  as  the  Duke's 
own.  Instantly  I  stole  a  glance  at  the  Duchess. 
She,  too,  had  recognized. 

"  M'sieur,"  she  said,  and  how  strangely  calm 
her  voice  was  now,  "I  wot  not  how  many  Dukes 
this  house  hath  harbored  since,  fourteen  years 

116 


The  mask,  T  beseech  ye  f  ' 


•^    live  anD  BcaD  ©ncs.    *y 

come  Micklemas,  1  was  brutally  thrust  in  a  secret 
chamber  and  guarded,  but  that,  M'sieur  of  the 
putty  mole,  is  the  voice  of  the  Duke  I  used  to 
know.  The  key  is  there,  M'sieur.  Unlock  you 
the  door." 

"  Prithee,  your  Grace,  one  moment,"  mur 
mured  I,  my  hand  on  the  massive  boll.  "Is  't 
courteous,  think  you,  to  now  disturb  my  lord,  the 
Duke?  He  may  wish  to  spend  in  meditation 
the  few  remaining  hours  of  his  bachelorhood. 
His  Grace — I  no  longer  can  conceal  it — His 
Grace  is  betrothed  to  one  Isabelle,  the  reigning 
Paris  beauty,  and  the  wedding,  so  't  is  said,  is 
set  for  Tuesday  at  high  noon." 

What  a  scream  was  that,  M'sieurs,  which 
sounded  in  my  open  ears  !  Parbleau  !  Beside  it, 
the  others  had  been  whispered  nothings. 

"Betrothed!  Married!  High  Noon!" 
shrieked  the  Duchess.  "Sucre  Beurrc  Noir .' 
Stand  aside  and  let  me  to  him  ! " 

Wide    I   swung   the   donjon   door. 

"Coming,  Gaspard  Henri  Pierre!"  shrilled 
this  Fury  Emeritus,  rushing  headlong  down  the 
passage  toward  a  dim  light  at  the  farther  end. 
"Coming,  Gaspard,  after  fourteen  years.  A  moi, 
les  Pom  me s  Souffles,  a  moi  !" 

Fast  as  1  could,  I  followed,  but  even  so,  my 
speed  was  that  of  the  snail  compared  with  hers. 
Mercury  himself,  i'  faith,  knew  no  such  winged  feet. 


^   /ifconsteur  D'en  JSrccbettc.    "V 

When  at  length  I  reached  the  cell,  in  which 
but  scant  two  hours  before  —  how  like  an  age  it 
seemed  —  I,  d'en  Brochette,  had  ordered  the 
Duke  cast,  I  witnessed  a  tableau  that  will  ever 
come  before  me,  an'  I  choose  to  recall  it. 

Parblcu !  If  great  is  the  fury  of  a  woman 
scorned,  what  may  not  the  anger  be  of  one 
locked  up  for  fourteen  years?  I  saw  with  a 
start  that  the  Duke's  head  was  bare.  The  Iron 
Mask  —  to  this  day,  M'sieurs,  I  marvel  at  it  — 
lay  cracked  and  broken  on  the  damp  stone  floor. 
To  this  day,  moreover,  I  wot  not  whether  it  was 
the  concussion  of  Fagot's  blast  that  loosened  it, 
or  whether  't  was  the  table-leg  in  the  lusty  grasp 
of  Her  Grace. 

"The  Mask  !  The  Mask  !"  the  Duke  in  his 
chains  was  groaning.  "  Sucre  Sam/ion  Hol- 
landaise !  The  Mask,  I  beseech  ye.  Once  more 
within  it  encase  my  hapless  head.  To  the 
Bastille  with  me  !  To  the  gallows  !  To  the 
devil  !  But  away  from  Pommes  de  Terre  ! " 

There  was  a  grating  in  the  masonry  of  the 
Duke's  cell,  a  cell  so  deep  that  it  had  escaped 
the  devastation  above.  It  communicated  with 
the  outer  air  just  atop  the  level  of  the  water  and 
from  it  the  outer  wall  and  the  principal  gate  of 
the  chateau  were  plainly  to  be  seen  in  the  flood 
of  moonlight.  On  this  gate,  then,  at  the  very 
moment  the  Duke  brought  his  tirade  to  an  end, 


^    Hive  anD  2>eaJ>  ©tics.    ^ 

there  fell  a  steady  succession  of  mighty  blows, 
delivered  it  must  seem,  with  fists  of  mail,  so  all 
compelling  were  they.  Then  there  came  stern 
shouts  —  and  Ma  foi !  —  Have  your  hearts  ever 
tenanted  your  throats,  M'sieurs?  Mine,  forsooth, 
arose  straightway. 

"  Open  !  "  came  the  stern  command.  "  Open, 
at  once,  in  the  King's  name  ' " 

"In  the  King's  name  !"  I  gasped  blankly. 

"The  King?"  said  the  Duchess,  pleasantly. 
"Prithee,  who  is  King  now?  Details  like  that 
were  not  vouchsafed  me  in  the  fourteen  years 
just  past." 

"The  King?"  muttered  the  Duke,  in  rapidly 
growing  delirium.  "The  King,  say  you?  Aye, 
bid  him  welcome.  Open  the  gates.  Down  with 
the  draw-bridge,  vassals.  Minions,  attend,  and 
receive  your  lord." 

Then  came  the  knocking  and  the  shouting 
anew. 

"Ol'KN?    Ol'KN     IN     THE     KlNG's    NAME?" 


CHAPTER   X. 

IN  WHICH  THE  KING  TAKES  A  HAND. 

|HE  MOMENT  was  more  than  a  trial.  It 
was  torture.  Not  especially  grate 
ful  ever  to  heaven  for  my  relatives, 
1  never  had  less  stomach  for  an 
uncle  real  or  spurious  than  now  as 
I  awaited  the  opening  of  the  gates  and  the 
entrance  of  his  sovereign  Majesty,  Louis  the 
Fourteenth  of  the  name.  None  the  less  there 
was  I  committed  to  the  emprises  fate  held  in 
store  for  me  and  my  blood  was  up.  No  Huevos 
Pasacla  Par  Agua  had  ever  flinched  in  the  hour 
of  trouble,  nor  bent  beneath  another's  yoke,  and 
as  the  portals  flung  wide  I  drew  myself  up  as 
proudly  as  though  the  man  who  was  to  enter  was 
my  inferior  instead  of  my  liege  lord  and  master. 
His  Majesty  was  singularly  agitated  as  he 
entered.  It  was  evident  from  his  demeanor  that 
he  suspected  the  bomb  that  had  wrought  such 
havoc  on  the  fair  demesne  of  Pommes  de  Terre, 
had  been  designed  for  himself,  and  from  the 
expression  of  his  countenance  it  was  clear  to  me 
that  upon  whomsoever  that  day  his  displeasure 
might  fall,  the  victim  of  his  wrath  would  account 
the  rack  a  bed  of  roses  and  the  thumb-screw  the 


pressure  of  his  loved  one's  hand  beside  the  things 
the  morrow  would  bring  into  his  experience. 

••\\'hat  then,  my  nephew!"  he  cried  ad 
dressing  himself  to  me.  "What  means  this  unto 
ward  reception  to  your  uncle  and  your  King?" 

"I  pray  your  Majesty  pardon  this  disorder 
in  my  Chateau,"  I  began.  '•  We  were  not  aware 
of  the  distinguished  honor  you  were  about  to 
confer  upon  our  house  and  certain  alterations  in 
the  facade  and  interior  of  our  humble  dwel 
ling  —  " 

"Certain  alterations?"  roared  his  Majesty, 
visibly  relieved  by  my  reply.  "Certain?  By 
the  beard  of  Navarre  and  all  the  white  lilies  of 
1'Yance,  cousin,  they  seem  to  me  to  be  conducted 
with  much  uncertainty." 

"A  careless  workman,  Sire,"  I  returned, 
"may  wreck  much  havoc  with  the  fairest  scenes." 

"I  'faith,  't  is  true,"  quoth  Louis.  "I  have 
e'en  known  La  Valliere's  tinted  cheek  to  suffer 
from  too  rough  a  handling  of  the  rouge." 

With  such  a  jest  upon  his  lips,  the  King 
surveyed  the  scene,  of  ruin.  His  haughty  eye 
rested  only  for  a  moment  upon  the  prostrate 
Pommes  de  Terre,  who  with  his  glance  fixed 
upon  the  Duchess,  was  doing  his  utmost  to  crawl 
away  into  obscurity,  and  then  — 

"Hold!"  cried  the  Duchess.  "  Hold,  Sire 
—  yon  fair  appearing  wight  is  an  imposter. 


•$?   jfl&onsieur  J>'en  JSrocbette.    ^ 

There  lying  like  a  worm  upon  the  floor  and  seek 
ing  exit  through  some  chancing  crevice  is  thy 
nephew  Gaspare!  Henri  Pierre,  Look,  Sire  — 
look  upon  him  and  then  upon  this  man  who 
claims  a  kingly  kinship  with  thee,  his  sovereign 
lord." 

"  Peace,  woman,  peace,"  said  the  King. 
"Thy  servants,  cousin,  do  not  seem  to  me — " 

"It  shall  not  be,"  shrieked  the  Duchess  in 
the  frenzy  of  her  anger.  "  Look,  Sire,"  she  con 
tinued,  levelling  her  shaking  finger  at  me,  "if 
not  upon  the  worm  at  least  upon  the  fox.  Hath 
he  the  mole,  the  hall-mark  of  the  Duke  des 
Pommes  de  Terre?" 

"  Pray,  Madame,"  said  the  King  drawing 
himself  up  with  dignity,  "the  question  's  not 
who  's  he  who  lies  upon  the  floor,  nor  if  the  man 
who  seems  to  be  my  well-beloved  nephew  hath 
the  mole,  but  who  art  thou  who  thus  pre 
sume  — 

"  Marie  Louise  Nanette  Babette  Anne 
Katharine  of  Chambertin,  the  loyal  wife  and 
Duchess  of  yon  grovelling  Duke  des  Pommes  de 
Terre,"  she  cried.  "Thy  niece  by  marriage,  but 
thine  aunt  by  birth — " 

"You?"  cried  the  King. 

"  Oui .'  Moi — I  am  she,"  wept  the  woman. 

The  King  was  moved  and  with  a  troubled 
frown  upon  his  face  glanced  first  at  Gaspard 


V    £b£  ^HHI  (Takes  a  1>an&.   ^ 

and  then  at  me,  hut  my  wits  saved  me.  The 
temporary  diversion  of  his  Majesty's  attention 
from  myself,  caught  here  heyond  peradventure 
without  the  mole,  to  Madame  La  Duchesse,  had 
given  me  time  to  gash  my  chin  with  a  bit  of 
jagged  rock  that  lay  at  my  feet,  splintered  from 
a  gargoyle  fallen  from  the  roof. 

"What  say  you  to  this  lady's  claims,  my 
cousin?"  the  King  demanded  with  a  frown. 
"The  mole  in  very  truth  should  hear  witness  to 
her  contentions." 

I  turned  my  toin  countenance  full  upon  the 
King  and  drew  myself  up  to  my  full  height. 

"The  lady,  as  a  lady  ever,  should  hath 
spoken  the  truth  about  the  mole,  dear  uncle,"  I 
replied.  "And  it  grieves  me  much  that  now 
when  first  1  find  my  title  questioned,  circum 
stance  hath  so  ordered  things  that  it  ma"  not  be 
produced." 

"May  not  be  produced,  man?"  growled 
the  King,  his  brow  furrowing  with  mistrust,  and 
advancing  a  step. 

"It  may  not  be,  your  Majesty,"  quoth  I, 
"for  when  the  blast  untimely  pulled  the  chateau 
down  about  mine  ears,  this  wretched  bit  of  gar 
goyle  served  me  thus." 

And  with  this  1  pointed  to  my  bleeding 
chin. 

"Crushed   like   a  rat   e'en   though  a  simple 


•y    Monsieur  D'en  38rocbette.    ^ 

mole,"  I  added.  "Gone  —  the  choicest  heritage 
of  my  ancestors,  the  heir-loom  that  I  've  prized 
and  eke  protected  all  these  many  years,  sent  bur 
rowing  whither  I  know  not.  All  I  know  is  't  is 
gone." 

"  Venire  d' Haricots  rerts,  but  this  is  passing 
strange,"  muttered  the  King,  turning  from  me  and 
looking  sternly  at  the  Duchess.  "  My  nephew's 
explanation,  Madame,  hath  much  plausibility." 

A  wild  laugh  was  the  response. 

"Ask  yonder  worm  the  truth,"  was  her  dis 
dainful  comment,  and  then,  M'sieurs,  such  grovel 
ling  actions  as  the  prostrate  Uuke  indulged  in. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  were  possessed  to  grate  his 
face  away  upon  the  rock  and  gravel  'neath  his 
jowl.  Were  he  indeed  the  missing  mole  itself 
personified,  no  more  anxious  burrowing  into 
Mother-earth  could  have  been  expected  of  him. 
Fate  trembled  in  the  balance  and  there  was  1 
helpless  to  throw  a  bit  of  weight  in  either  scale. 

"  Rise,  groveller,"  ordered  the  King  address 
ing  the  Duke,  "and  let  us  see  what  truth  lies  in 
this  lady's  accusation.  Hast  thon  the  mole?" 

The  Duke  rose  up  and  with  hang-dog  look 
and  shuffling  feet  approached  his  Majesty.  A 
crlance  at  his  face  showed  me  I  was  saved.  The 

O 

reasons  for  his  burrowings  were  now  made  clear. 
He  Ji ad  flayed  the  mole  away  by  attrition  with 
the  earth. 

128 


^    Che  fting  Cafees  a  1ban<x  -y 

"Who  art  thou,  man?"  demanded  the 
King.  "Art  thou  in  truth  the  Duke  des  Pommes 
de  Terre  ?  " 

Again  it  seemed  as  if  my  life  hung  on  his 
lips,  but  as  I  saw  him  cringe  before  the  glower 
ing  glances  of  the  Duchess,  my  courage  mounted 
high.  'T  was  clear  that  death  itself  were  prefer 
able  in  his  mind  to  live  with  such  a  one. 

"I  'm  not  the  Duke,  Majesty,"  he  replied. 
"My  name  is  Fagot  —  Jules  Fagot — your  Gra- 
ciousness." 

"Fagot  ?" 

"Aye,  Majesty,  Fagot  —  ralct  dc  cuisine, 
Cafe  de  la  Paix,  Paris." 

"What  do  you  here?" 

"  I  have  come,  Your  Majesty,  to  wreak 
vengeance  upon  yon  tyrannous  Gaspard  Henri 
Pierre,  who  worked  me  wretched  wrong.  'T  was 
I  blew  up  the  Chateau.  'T  is  I,  oh  grand  and 
glorious  monarch,  who  hath  wrought  this  ruin, 
and  I  await  my  punishment,  no  matter  what 
it  be." 

"He  lies — ,"  the  Duchess  began,  waving 
her  hands  and  preparing  to  rush  upon  the  Duke. 

"Peace,  woman  !"  cried  the  King,  restrain 
ing  her  with  a  gesture.  "His  shrift  will  be  a 
short  one  if  but  half  his  tale  is  true  without  thy 
further  calumnies.  Speak,  nephew,  know  you 
this  Fagot  ?  " 


"V    /Monsieur  O'cn  JBiocbcttc.    ^ 

"I  know  him  well,  Sire,"  I  replied.  "Too 
well,  in  fact.  The  wrong  I  did  him  was  to  beat 
him  well  for  offences  that  he  knows  of — ' 

"Of  what  nature?"   demanded  the  King. 

"  He  brought  me  Moselle  wines  in  place  of 
Chambertin,  and  at  the  breaking  of  my  fast  on 
Monday  last  't  was  he  poured  bromides  in  my 
sauce  in  place  of  salt,"  I  replied.  "  For  this  I 
trounced  him  well.  For  that  hath  he  destroyed 
my  home." 

"The  penalty  is  death  !"  cried  the  King, 
shrinking  from  the  malefactor  in  aversion. 

"Nay,  uncle,  not  so,"  I  protested,  not  wish 
ing  to  have  the  crime  of  murder  on  my  soul. 
"  Let  us  be  merciful.  I  doubt  me  not  the  man 
hath  suffered  much  from  me  and  my  kind  in  my 
roisterous  days  at  Paris,  and  the  first  offense  was 
but  the  vengefulness  of  an  untutored  mind.  This 
last  more  serious  crime  but  shows  him  mentally 
deformed.  Give  him  to  me,  my  King  —  a  small 
favor,  Sire  —  and  let  me  deal  with  him,  accord 
ing  to  my  whim." 

"Ah,  Softheart  !"  cried  the  King.  "  'T  was 
ever  a  weakness  of  thine,  Gaspard,  but  it  shall 
be  as  you  wish." 

"A  blank  warrant  of  commitment  to  the 
Bastille,  and  I  shall  be  satisfied,"  was  my  reply. 

Tapping  me  on  the  shoulder  affectionately, 
his  Majesty,  ordering  his  Chamberlain  to  fulfill 


And  in  a  moment  more,  1  wan  folded  in  lier  arms, 
'3' 


^    Cbc  fktiicj  Safteg  a  t>an&.    v 

my  wishes,  passed  on  into  what  remained  of  the 
gardens,  leaving  me  alone  with  the  Duchess  and 
the  self-denying  Duke. 

"There  is  another  mask  below,  Your  Grace," 
suggested  the  Duke.  "While  that  woman  lives 
I  shall  account  the  Bastille  and  the  iron  visor 
comfort  —  the  one  to  sequestrate  my  body  from 
her  approach,  the  other  lest  perchance  she  have 
an  opportunity  again  to  kiss  me." 

And  so  it  was.  In  a  jiffy's  time  the  new 
mask  was  adjusted  upon  the  shoulders  of  the 
Duke,  the  commitment  signed  by  the  royal  hand 
was  filled  in  the  name  of  Fagot,  and  under 
strong  guard  Guspard  Henri  Pierre,  Duke  des 
Pommes  de  Terre,  was  on  his  way  to  the  dun 
geons  of  the  dread  prison  house  of  France,  the 
Bastille.  There  let  us  leave  him  to  the  con 
sideration  of  history.  He  does  not  enter  again 
upon  my  narrative. 

The  Duke  disposed  of  thus,  I  turned  to  join 
the  King,  when,  fury  of  furies,  the  worst  of  all 
befell.  The  Duchess,  resolved  to  make  the  best 
of  existing  conditions,  now  stood  between  me 
and  the  garden  gate,  her  hag-like  face  lit  up  by 
the  fires  of  love,  her  bosom  heaving  with  emo 
tion. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  Gaspard,  for  having 
doubted,"  she  cried,  and  in  a  moment  I  was 
folded  in  her  arms. 

133 


•^    Aonsieur  O'en  JBrocbette.   -7*- 

Vcntrc  Saint  Cafe  Noir,  but  if  this  woman's 
wrath  were  a  thing  to  be  feared,  her  love  was  to 
be  dreaded  ten  times  more. 

"Ye  Gods  !"  I  cried  in  a  muffled  voice,  as 
she  amorously  pressed  my  nose  against  her 
breast-pin. 


CHAPTER   XI. 
LA  BELDAM  SANS  MERCI  AND  LA  BELLE  ISABELLE. 

JNHAND  ME,  woman  ! "  I  cried,  and 
sought  to  break  the  amorous  clutch 
in   which   the   Duchess  held  me. 
But  as  the  ivy  clings  to  the  oak, 
or   the   devil-fish   to  its  prey,    the 
infatuated  woman  hung  on.      I  must  temporize. 
"Enough,  Marie,"  I  said.     "I  do  surrender 
—  I  am  thine  for  all  eternity." 

With  a  cry  of  joy  she  pressed  my  unhappy 
nose  still  more  erotically  against  her  breast-pin. 
Ventre  Verdi  Gris  !  It  is  sore  to  this  day. 

"And  you  will  never  donjon  your  little 
Marie  again?"  she  whimpered. 

"  Never,  on  my  honor  as  a  Pommes  de 
Terre  au  Gratin  ! " 

Reluctantly  she  unclasped  her  arms.  I 
rubbed  my  proboscis  ruefully. 

"  Poor  'ittle  nosie  !  "    she  cooed,  touching  it 
tenderly.      "Diddum   naughty  pin  scratch  him?" 
"It    diddum,    Madame!"     I    roared.      "By 
Cyrano,   it   diddum  ! " 

The  Duchess  took  my  arm.  "  Let  us  leave 
this  place,  my  love,"  she  said.  "It  is  frightfully 
out  of  repair." 


•«j»   Monsieur  D'cn  SSrocbettc.    ^ 

I  glanced  around  at  the  ruins  of  the  cha 
teau  —  the  chaotic  heap  of  toppled  masonry  and 
twisted  girders.  As  a  place  of  residence  it  was 
indeed  passe,  not  to  say  de  trop. 

Not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  In  the  distance  I 
heard  the  echoes  of  a  bugle;  the  King  was 
returning  to  Versailles.  It  was  dark  as  Erebus, 
save  for  the  flickering  light  from  the  flames  of 
the  wrecked  chateau. 

"We  must  put  up  at  the  hotel,  sweet 
Marie,"  quoth  I.  "And  appearance  hath  it  that 
we  shall  walk  perforce,  for  of  horses  and  re 
tainers  I  see  nothing.  Methinks  the  varlets  have 
perished  in  the  wreck.  Remain  here,  my  Sappho, 
whilst  I  repair  to  the  village  —  't  is  but  half  a 
league  —  for  a  conveyance  for  thy  precious  self." 

"Nay,  Gaspard;  thou  'It  not  leave  me 
again,"  replied  the  Duchess,  determined  not  to 
lose  sight  of  her  prey.  "  I  shall  accompany  thee 
to  the  hotel  on  foot.  I  have  need  of  exercise, 
my  love,  having  taken  on  flesh  during  the  past 
fourteen  years.  I  acknowledge,  my  cruel  Gas 
pard,  thou  hast  fed  me  well." 

"Come,  then,  my  Helen  of  Troy,"  said  I, 
with  an  inward  groan.  And  we  set  forth  toward 
Manchet,  the  Duchess  with  feet  of  thistledown 
and  I  with  leaden  heel. 

En  route  I  searched  my  wits  for  means  to 
disencumber  myself  of  La  Beldam  Sans  Merci, 
136 


V   JBetoam  ano  JBette.    -^ 

but  could  think  of  nothing  short  of  murder;  and 
this,  with  my  customary  delicacy,  I  shrank  from. 
The  hotel  lights  surprised  me  with  not  an  idea 
in  my  pate  —  usually  a  tropic  forest  of  ideas. 

"  My  love,  we  will  sup,"  I  remarked,  having 
registered. 

"Mon  Diei/,  Gaspard,  I  was  at  the  dessert 
when  the  Chateau  blew  up." 

"Tush,  sweetheart  !  The  walk  has  given 
me  an  appetite,"  I  insisted  gently.  And  escort 
ing  her  to  the  dining-room,  I  gave  orders  for  a 
sumptuous  repast. 

Whilst  this  was  preparing  I  engaged  a  suite 
of  rooms  for  an  indefinite  period;  and  as  the 
shops  were  still  open,  it  being  Saturday  night,  I 
despatched  servants  for  a  fresh  wardrobe,  bidding 
them  purchase  the  most  costly  goods  to  be  ob 
tained.  It  was  hard  upon  midnight  when  a 
cringing  menial  advised  me  that  the  banquet  was 
prepared. 

Despite  her  protest,  the  Duchess  discovered 
an  excellent  appetite,  and  as  we  supped  we 
chatted  of  many  things  —  a  new  chateau  to  be 
built  in  the  Spring,  our  winter  house  in  town,  a 
cruise  in  the  Mediterranean.  The  Duchess  cast 
on  me  the  most  languishing  of  glances,  whilst  I 
madly  revolved  in  my  mind  a  thousand  futile 
avenues  of  escape  from  her  Circean  toils. 

The  expectant  valet  de  place,   with  an  ob- 

137 


"V    /Monsieur  D'en  JBrocbette.    -^ 

sequious  bow,  laid  beside  my  plate  the  bill  for 
the  repast.  I  glanced  at  the  figures  and  started 
violently. 

Two  hundred  and  fifty-seven  francs,  thirty 
centimes  ! 

"Ventre  de  Gargantua ! "  I  murmured  to 
myself.  The  precise  amount,  to  a  centime, 
M'sieurs,  of  the  bill  which  my  lost  Isabelle  had 
vised  for  me  at  the  Cafe  D'Oeuf,  in  Paris,  not 
forty-eight  hours  before  !  Again,  at  this  touch 
of  a  vanished  hand,  a  wave  of  passion  swept 
over  me. 

Into  those  forty-eight  hours  had  been  crowded 
more  incidents  than  the  ordinary  man  expe 
riences  in  a  lifetime,  even  in  these  days  of  swash 
and  buckler.  Save  for  the  hours  I  lay  uncon 
scious  in  the  well  at  Croquante,  I  had  not  slept, 
nor  was  there  prospect  of  my  sleeping  for  days 
to  come.  I  vowed  to  myself  that  I  should  not 
close  my  eyes  until  I  had  recovered  Isabelle,  if 
years  were  required  to  the  search. 

Now,  as  on  that  fateful  morning  when  first 
I  beheld  my  divinity,  I  was  without  a  sou. 
Mechanically  I  thrust  my  hand  in  my  pocket, 
though  no  purse  was  there,  and  drew  forth  a  let 
ter.  I  stared  blankly  at  it,  then  suddenly  I  re 
called  that  it  was  the  letter  to  the  Duke  des 
Pommes  de  Terre  which  I  had  taken  from  the 
ill-fated  courier  on  the  road  from  Paris.  The 


^   JSelCmm  an&  JBelle.   -y- 

seal  was  still  unbroken.  Like  myself,  the  letter 
had  had  remarkable  adventures. 

Never,  M'sieurs,  was  there  stranger  caprice 
of  circumstances.  I  had  become,  for  better  or 
worse,  the  actual  Duke  des  Pommes  de  Terre. 
The  lett-er,  therefore,  was  for  my  eyes.  Thus  was 
I  in  conspiracy  against  the  King,  as  this  fatal 
paper  was  unquestionably  a  link  in  the  chain  of 
plotting. 

"From  a  woman,  Gaspard?"  queried  the 
Duchess,  kindling  with  jealousy. 

"Nay,  my  love;  't  is  but  a  tailor's  bill,"  I 
answered  lightly,  opening  it. 

Diable .  It  was  in  truth  a  tailor's  dunning. 
It  read : 


"To  making  one  business  suit,  with  extra 
breastplate  and  surcingle,  125  francs.  To 
cleaning  and  riveting  business  suit,  10  francs. 
Please  remit  by  messenger." 


The  paper  fluttered  from  my  hand.  I  sat 
dumfoundered. 

"A  message  for  the  Duke  des  Pommes  de 
Terre,"  announced  the  valet  de  place,  laying  a 
perfumed  missive  before  me.  My  heart  leaped : 
the  perfume  was  Isabelle's.  The  Duchess  snatched 
wildly  at  the  letter,  but  I  thrust  her  back  in  her 
chair  and  broke  the  seal  of  the  odorous  message. 

'39 


•^    /Ibonsieur  D'en  ^Brocbette.    ^ 

One  glance  and  my  wild  Brochette  blood  flamed 
for  an  instant  action : 

"Mv  BRAVE  BROCHETTE  —  True  heroine 
of  romance  that  I  -am,  I  am  once  more  up 
against  it.  Come  at  once.  Love  will  find  the 
way. 

"ISABELLE.  " 

I  leaped  to  my  feet,  upsetting  my  chair  with 
a  crash;  and  flinging  the  unpaid  dinner  bill  at 
the  Duchess,  who  fell  fainting  across  the  table, 
in  three  bounds  I  had  gained  the  street  and  was 
running  like  a  deer  in  the  direction  of  Paris. 

Love  showed  the  way.  Venus  was  evening 
star,  and  swung,  a  beckoning  beacon,  before  me. 

I  had  run  a  league  or  more  when  suddenly 
two  dark  shapes  sprang  up  as  from  the  earth  and 
barred  the  highway.  I  reached  for  my  sword, 
but  —  sapnsti !  —  I  was  defenceless.  Powerful 
arms  seized  me,  a  bandage  was  placed  over  my 
eyes,  and  I  was  hurried  —  whither  I  could  make 
no  shift  at  guessing. 

Presently  I  heard  a  gate  click;  my  feet 
touched  gravel;  I  mounted  a  stair;  the  bandage 
was  plucked  from  my  eyes ;  —  Man  Dieu  !  I  be 
held  the  beautiful  Isabelle,  her  eyes  shining  like 
stars. 

"  My  brave  Brochette  ! "  she  cried,  and  sank 
into  my  arms. 

"  My  pearl  of  fabulous  price  ! "  I  murmured. 


^    JBelfcam  an£>  JBelle.    -^ 

"It  was  very  good  of  you  to  come,  my 
brave  Brochette." 

"  Now  that  I  am  here  I  shall  never  leave 
you!"  I  swore,  and  took  tribute  of  the  tremu 
lous  lips  that  neighbored  mine. 

"Oh,  Robert,"  she  murmured  —  "your  name 
is  Robert,  is  it  not?" 

"Robert  Gaston  de  Launay  Alphonse. 
Wear  upon  thy  lips,  my  love,  whichever  name 
best  pleases  thee." 

"I  am  undecided,  my  preserver,  'twixt 
Alphonse  and  Gaston.  Both  are  sweet." 

"'T  is  all  one  to  me,  sweetheart,"  said  I. 
"  Help  yourself." 

"Then  Alphonse  be  it,"  she  replied.  "Oh, 
Alphonse,  I  feared  you  could  not  come  to  me; 
that  fate,  so  inconsiderate  of  lovers,  had  placed 
you  hors  dn  combat  once  again." 

"Tell  me,  my  adored,"  I  said,  glancing 
about,  "  what  is  this  place  in  which  I  find  you  ?  " 

"  'T  is  a  villa,  and  deserted.  Ask  me  not 
how  I  came  here;  't  would  require  an  entire 
chapter,  and  time  and  space  press  —  like  thee," 
she  said,  pantingly.  For  a  Brochette,  M'sieurs, 
is  a  very  bear  at  the  game  of  hugging.  "Thank 
heaven  you  are  in  time,  my  brave  Alphonse. 
One  fight  more,  my  cavalier,  and  then  our 
troubles  will  be  over,  and  we  shall  live  happily 
ever  afterwards." 


^    /IfconBieur  yen  38rocbette.    ^ 

"  Ha  ! "  I  cried,  sniffing  the  battle  afar  off. 
"You  expect  an  attack?" 

"At  any  instant.  Hark!"  She  raised  a 
warning  hand.  A  sound  of  breaking  glass  fell 
crunchingly  upon  the  silence.  "They  are  in  the 
cucumber  beds.  In  another  minute  they  will 
force  the  door  ! " 

"A  sword  !  A  sword  !  My  dukedom  for 
a  sword  ! "  I  roared. 

Isabelle  ran  lightly  to  a  clothespress  and 
drew  forth  a  naked  blade  of  i8-karat  Toledo. 
I  snatched  it  eagerly,  and  to  test  its  temper  ran 
it  through  a  haircloth  sofa. 

"Shall  we  not  barricade  the  door?"  asked 
Isabelle,  pushing  the  piano  into  position. 

"Nay,  my  love,"  I  replied.  "We  shall 
make  it  a  staircase  affair.  With  your  sweet 
voice  to  encourage  me,  I  could  hold  a  stair 
against  more  men  than  fronted  Horatius  in  the 
brave  days  of  old." 

A  crash  below  stairs  told  me  that  the  door 
had  been  forced.  I  sprang  out  upon  the  land 
ing,  Isabelle  following  with  a  piano  lamp.  A 
pack  of  armed  ruffians  were  swarming  up  the 
stair. 

"  Twenty —  count  them  —  twenty  ! "  cried 
Isabelle,  her  voice  high  with  excitement.  "A 
Brochette  !  A  Brochette  !  " 

I  snatched  a  kiss  from  her  scarlet  lips,  and 

'44 


A  pack  of  armed  ruffians  were  swarming  up  the  stair. 
145 


•y    .IBelOam  anD  JSelle.   y 

bidding  her  hold  the  lamp  high  I  turned  to  the 
work  in  hand. 

"  Twenty  —  count  them  —  twenty  !  "  cried 
Isabelle  again.  "Have  at  them,  valiant  Bro- 
chette." 

And  then,  to  the  hireling  cut-throats  swarm 
ing  on  the  stair: 

"Come  on,  canaille,  come  on  !  I'd  have  ye 
meet  a  gentleman  —  a  gentleman  of  France  ! " 

A  chorus  of  maledictions  swelled  from  the 
throats  of  the  baying  pack  at  the  foot  of  the 
stair. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
IN  WHICH  THERE  ARE  DOINGS  ON  THE  STAIR. 

|T  WAS  warm  toil,  M'sieurs.  A  second 
after  Isabella  had  issued  her  sweep 
ing  challenge,  the  foremost  ruffians, 
with  drawn  swords,  came  bounding 
at  me.  Poor  fools  !  They  knew 
not  who  I  was. 

"  By  the  mass,  shrimps,"  I  grimly  jested, 
"  Naught  have  I  against  ye  save  my  blade,  but 
that  were  more  than  enough,  I  trow,  for  such 
as  ye." 

'T  was  the  work  of  an  instant  to  extract  my 
steel  from  the  one  and  plunge  it,  quivering,  into 
the  other.  Then,  with  their  two  bodies  as  a 
dead-line,  I  faced  the  eighteen  scamps  remaining. 
Sapristi !  But  the  lust  of  the  fight  was  strong 
upon  me  ! 

"  Swine  of  the  trough ! "  I  roared  in  a 
terrible  voice,  while  cowed  momentarily  by  the 
loss  of  two  of  their  number,  the  band  hesitated, 
"Swine  of  the  trough  !  Though  the  knife  of  the 
butcher  were  fitting  steel  for  all  of  ye,  sticking 
pigs  in  an  abattoir  was  ne'er  a  fad  of  d'en 
Brochette's.  I  like  not  their  squeal,  to  be  frank 
with  ye"  —  here  I  touched  with  buskin  toe  the 
148 


^    Doings  on  tbc  Stair.    ^ 

body  of  him  nearest  me  —  "And  by  your  leave, 
sweet  sirs,  I'll  finish  this  killing  with  dispatch." 

"  Now,  by  the  Lord  Harry,  and  by  gad's 
daggers,  blades  and  scabbards,  no  man  shall  call 
Miles  Giles  a  pig  and  live  to  boast  of  it  in  a  six- 
bescellar." 

These,  M'sieurs,  were  the  ranting  words 
that  followed  my  taunting  pleasantry.  They 
came,  what  is  more,  from  the  leader  of  the  pack ; 
a  burly  knave  of  an  Englishman,  whose  speech, 
as  you  will  observe,  was  studded  with  strange 
oaths,  and  expletives  as  outlandish  as  himself. 

"  No,  by  my  halidom,"  he  bellowed  in  a 
passion  —  a  passion  not  made  less  violent  by  a 
contemptuous  smile  from  me  —  "no  man  shall 
call  Miles  Giles  a  pig  and  not  himself  be  badly 
stuck.  Oddspluts,  mates !  To  the  floor  with 
this  smirking  snail  eater  !" 

"To  the  floor  with  him  !"  echoed  the  other 
ten  and  seven  ;  meaning  me,  M'sieurs,  the 
modest  teller  of  this  tale. 

With  that  they  made  a  concerted  onslaught, 
beside  which  their  opening  rush  was  naught  but 
a  minuet.  In  the  center  came  Miles  Giles  of 
Merrie  England,  while  flanking  him  on  all  sides 
were  the  swashbuckling  blades  and  leerjng 
tongues  of  his  seventeen  snarling  companions. 

For  the  instant,  M'sieurs,  I  confess  that  I 
quaked ;  for  after  all  I  am  only  human.  The 


•^   dfeonsicur  D'en  JSvocbetie.    -y? 

emotions  which  sway  men,  sway  me.  The  fears 
that  men  feel,  I  at  times  feel  also,  though  may 
hap  in  lesser  degree.  In  short,  for  the  moment, 
I  quaked.  Then  reflecting  that  but  two  more 
slain  would  shorten  the  odds  against  me  to  16  to 
i  —  something  which  readily  is  overcome,  as  ye 
know,  M'sieurs  —  I  made  a  lunge  at  the  nearest 
scamp  and  —  Mon  Dieu  !  But  for  the  restrain 
ing  hand  of  Isabelle,  I  should  have  slid  sans 
dignity  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  stair  case, 
where  even  now  my  assailants  were  floundering 
and  cursing  in  a  conglomerate  heap.  And  the 
stairs,  M'sieurs  —  the  stairs,  from  a  flight  of 
polished  oak  steps,  had  changed  in  a  second  to 
a  steep,  smooth  incline,  with  neither  break  nor 
visible  joint  from  the  head  of  it  to  the  foot. 

"  Sacre  saucisson  de  Bohgne  ! "  breathlessly 
I  gasped.  "What  dark  age  witchery  is  this?" 

Small  thought  had  I,  M'sieurs,  that  the 
riddle  would  be  answered,  yet  answered  it  was, 
and  by  Isabelle  at  my  side. 

"  No  dark  age  witchery  is  this,  dear  heart," 
she  said,  with  superb  coolness  —  coolness  simply 
marvelous  considering  the  uproar  below — "'Tis 
rather  the  perfection  of  modern  stair  building; 
a  device  which  shortens  considerably  the  stay  of 
one's  boorish  guests  and  gives  them  in  parting 
la  peche  chute,  as  they  of  Normandy  quaintly 
say." 

150 


The  stairs  .  .  .  had  changed  .  .  .  to  a  steep,  smooth  incline. 


^    Doings  on  tbe  Stair.    ^ 

I  looked  at  the  girl  in  sheerest  wonder. 

"•And  thou,  bravest  of  the  fair  and  fairest  of 
the  brave,"  said  I,  "  Is  this  thy  work?" 

I  pointed  with  dripping  rapier  to  the  stairs 
that  were,  and  the  baffled  gang  below. 

"  Ay,"  she  laughed,  with  a  saucy  toss  of  her 
head.  "  And  whose  else,  M'sieur,  indeed  ?  For 
deft  effects  about  the  house  is  not  a  woman's 
hand  ever  responsible  ?  'T  was  I  who  pressed 
the  secret  spring,  most  certainly." 

"  Isabelle  !  Incomparable  Isabelle!"  I 
began  tremulously,  mindful  for  the  moment  of 
naught  but  her. 

"  No  time  is  this  for  honeyed  words,"  she 
interrupted  firmly.  "Look  you,  my  Alphonse. 
He  who  calls  himself  Miles  Giles  of  England  is 
climbing  up  the  balusters." 

Taking  from  her  the  piano-lamp,  and  hold 
ing  it  at  arm's  length,  I  flashed  its  light  down 
ward. 

"  Meet  amusement,  good  sooth,  for  a  grown 
man,"  I  sneered  at  the  ascending  ruffian.  "  I 
'faith,  in  France,  sweet  sir,  climbing  the  balusters 
is  deemed  an  infant's  pastime.  But  choose  your 
transit  as  ye  will  —  Parbleu !  The  end  is  the 
same  in  any  event,  and  swift  to  come." 

"  Oddslidikins,  caitiff ! "  hissed  he  whom  I 
addressed,  "but  for  the  scurvy  trick  just  played 
by  yon  staircase,  there  would  have  been  ere  now 

153 


•«$i»    flfeonsieur  yen  JBrocbette.    ^ 

on  that  broad  landing  the  deadest  swaggerer  in 
all  France." 

So    grimly   savage    were  his   tones,  to   say 
nothing  of  the 'hoarse,  growing  growl  of  the  men- 
behind  him,  that  Isabelle  with  a  shudder  clasped 
my  hand  in  hers  and  clung  more  closely  to  me. 

"  Fear  not,  sweet  one,"  said  I,  reassuringly. 
"  Yon  Creeping  Charlie  is  naught  but  a  loutish 
braggart,  like  all  of  his  detestable  race.  I  have 
but  to  stand  at  the  head  of  this  balustrade  and 
prick  them  one  by  one  as  they  come  within  my 
sword's  length.  Ma  foif"  —  here  purposely  I 
raised  my  voice  — "  It  will  be  like  stringing 
beads." 

"  Bah !  Gadsobs ! "  was  all  the  response 
that  came  from  one  Miles  Giles  of  England. 

And  then,  M'sieurs,  I  noted  what  I  should 
have  seen  before  ;  that  Miles  Giles,  half  way  up 
the  balusters,  was  but  part  of  a  stratagem;  a 
decoy  for  the  time  being  ;  a  mere  means  to 
catch  and  concentrate  my  whole  attention. 
When  I  solved  the  trick  —  Parbleu  !  It  was  too 
late  to  do  aught  but  leap  back  ;  back  out  of  the 
way  of  two  falling  columns  of  armed  masculinity. 
The  followers  of  Miles  Giles,  bandits  and  cut 
throats,  were  skilled  acrobats  and  tumblers  as 
well.  Taking  advantage  of  the  dark,  for  all  was 
pitch  dark  in  the  lower  hall,  two  squads  of  them 
had  mounted  on  each  other's  shoulders  and 

154 


•^    Doincie  on  tbc  Stair.    ^ 

fallen  up,  M'sieurs,  the  stairs  which  they  could 
not  climb;  the  topmost  villans  landing  at  once 
but  scant  three  feet  in  front  of  me. 

"  Odds  whips  and  wheels,  have  at  him, 
mates  !"  roared  Giles  from  the  balusters.  "Tilts 
or  tumbling,  't  is  all  one  to  us,  by  Gys  !  Odds- 
devilkins  !  Huddup  !" 

For  the  moment,  I  was  dismayed  by  the 
suddenness  of  the  move,  but  for  the  moment 
only.  In  the  next,  Brochette  was  again 
Brochette. 

"  Come  closer  with  the  light,  sweetheart," 
to  Isabelle  I  cried,  "Come  closer  or  turn  it  up, 
else  I  can  not  see  to  carve." 

"Mercy!  Mercy,  M'sieur!"  shrieked  the 
next  victim  of  my  blade,  in  agonized  terror. 

"Mercy!"  qoth  I.  "What  mercy  shall  a 
tumbler  have  who  would  take  unawares  a  fall 
out  of  d'en  Brochette  ?  None,  sirrah  ! " 

And  breaking  his  feeble  guard,  I  drove  my 
flashing  steel,  not  through  that  man  alone,  but 
through  him  directly  behind. 

I  weary  you,  I  fear,  M'sieurs,  with  these 
bare  commonplaces,  these  dull  details  of  a  life 
lived  every  day.  Protest  not  politely  to  the 
contrary  ;  't  is  to  Frenchmen  I  am  talking.  Let 
this  then  be  sufficient  :  In  scarce  ten  minutes,  by 
Isabelle's  Swiss  hour  glass,  I  despatched  upon 
the  journey  whence  no  traveler  returneth  all  but 

'55 


"V    Monsieur  fc'en  ffirocbette.    -^ 

two  of  my  loutish  enemies.  Upon  one  of  the 
latter  I  was  busily  engaged,  even  preoccupied, 
pressing  him  back,  back  to  the  carven  wains- 
cotting,  finally  spitting  him,  when  — 

"  S'death  !"  hissed  a  voice  at  my  elbow. 
"  Odds  blushes  and  blooms  !  Yield  thee  ! " 

Parbleu !  For  the  first  time  since  the 
fracas  began,  I  was  at  a  disadvantage,  but  by 
other  eyes  than  mine  was  my  peril  discerned. 
Isabelle  had  seen,  and  seeing,  acted. 

"  Die,  English  muffin  ! "  she  cried,  and 
using  the  piano  lamp  as  a  knight's  lance  of  old, 
she  caught  Miles  Giles  beneath  his  bearded  chin 
and  neatly  severed  his  jugular. 

"  S'blood  ! "  he  roared  in  fury,  rolling  limply 
down  the  erstwhile  stairs,  and  then  at  the  foot 
we  heard  him  murmur  weakly  : 

"  Pishtush,  m'lord.  What  mummery  is 
this!" 

Miles  Giles  of  Merrie  England,  M'sieurs, 
was  taking  his  last  wander  in  his  mind. 

Now,  when  we  were  safe  at  last  and  there 
was  need  no  longer  for  parry  and  thrust,  reaction 
seized  me  and  I  felt  so  weak  that  I  staggered. 
Moreover,  the  lamp  went  out  when  it  struck 
Miles  Giles,  and  the  ensuing  darkness  did  not 
aid  me  to  recover. 

"  It  was  going  out  anyway,  sweetheart," 
said  Isabelle,  through  the  blackness.  "  In  sooth, 
156 


•^    IDoings  on  tbe  Stair.    ^ 

't  was  beginning  to  sputter  e'en  when  I  did 
strike." 

"My  preserver!"  I  answered  trembling, 
reaching  'her  at  last.  "  Though  as  yet  I  can  not 
see  thy  face,  I  swear  before  thee  on  bended  knee 
that  that  lamp  henceforth  shall  be  more  precious 
to  Brochette  than  ever  Aladdin's  was  to  him. 
Where  we  go,  it  shall  go.  Where  we  dwell,  it 
shall  dwell.  And  if  by  fortune's  favor,  I  shall 
ever  amass  vast  wealth  in  gold  and  estates,  no 
chateau  shall  be  too  imposing,  no  apartment  too 
rich  in  furnishings,  to  deprive  yon  lamp — where- 
ever  it  is  at  this  black  moment  —  of  the  place  of 
honor." 

"  But  first,  my  sweet,"  whispered  Isabelle  in 
reply,  "I  must  make  for  it  a  new  shade.  The 
present  one,  I  fear  me,  is  a  trifle  passe.  And 
now,"  she  added  brightly,  "  let  me  lead  you  out 
of  this  —  this  chamber  of  horrors." 

"  Of  joys,  sweetheart,  since  you  are  here,"  I 
gently  corrected. 

She  answered  with  a  pressure  of  the  hand, 
and  led  on  in  silence. 

"  Tell  me,  dear  one,"  I  interposed,  "  who 
those  ruffians  were  who  so  boorishly  disturbed  us 
this  night  ! " 

"  I  know  not,  Alphonse,"  the  girl  replied. 

"  But  what  came  they  for  ! " 

"  That,  also,  I  know  not,  Alphonse." 

159 


•^    flfconsieur  D'en  JBrocbette.    "V 

"  But  why,  sweetheart,"  I  persisted,  "  should 
they  ever  have  come  at  all  ?" 

Again  Isabelle  made  answer  : 

"  Alphonse,  once  more  must  I  say  that  I 
know  not,  unless — " 

"  Yes,  my  pearl,  unless — " 

"Unless  't  is  because,"  she  ventured,  "we 
live  in  historical  times." 

Feeling  our  way  down  a  back  and  obscure 
stairway  —  one  unequipped  with  the  patent 
folding  device  —  we  reached  at  last  the  villa 
garden  and  beheld  the  gray  of  dawn. 


/Y  y;/,/.sy//;A".V    .YO  TK. 

[T  is  with  regret  that  we  have  to  announce  a  failure 
upon  the  part  of  the  three  collaborating  authors  of 
tins  romance,  historical  though  it  be,  to  agree  upon  the 
tenor  of  the  concluding  chapter  of  their  story.  We  are 
compelled,  ivith  apologies  to  the  reader,  to  print  all  three 
versions  of  the  conclusion  as  they  have  been  supplied  to  us. 
The  situation  is  a  novel  one  and  we  arc  not  aware  that 
there  is  any  precedent  by  which  we  may  be  governed  in 
the  matter,  and  the  solution  of  the  difficult v  that  we  have 
chosen  seems  to  be  the  only,  as  well  as  the  shortest  way, 
out  of  a  disagreeable  complication. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

I\      WHICH      M'SIKI'R      IJ'EN      15ROCHETTK     IjRINGS     TO     A 

CLOSE  THE  FIRST  VOLUME  OK  His  IN-COMPARABLE 
MEMOIRS. 

7>'r  Jyert  Lesion  Taylor. 

|OR  THK  third  time  within  the  brief 
space  of  forty-eight  hours  I  took  an 
account  of  stock,  and  found  myself 
no  better  off,  in  a  worldly  way, 
than  at  the  beginning  of  my  last 
series  of  adventures.  Still  did  I  possess  my 
health,  a  sword,  and  my  family  name  ;  but  to 
the  debit  side  of  the  ledger  was  added  a  beauti 
ful  woman,  soon  to  be  my  wife  ;  an  extravagant 
beauty,  too,  if  one  might  judge  by  her  gowns 
and  jewels. 

Before  the  world  I  was,  it  is  true,  Duke 
des  Pommes  de  Terre  au  Gratin,  master  of 
broad  acres  and  coffers  of  gold  ;  but  with  the 
relic  of  the  real  Duke  still  in  existence,  and  pur 
suing  me  with  implacable  passion,  I  had  no 
mind  for  further  masquerade. 

In  the  days  of  which  I  write,  M'sieurs, 
there  was  but  one  employment  for  a  centimeless 
gentleman  —  his  sword.  Now,  in  all  France 


^   Monsieur  D'en  JBrocbette.    -y 

was  there  no  more  honest  and  industrious 
swordsman  than  myself,  and  whether  I  worked 
by  the  hour  or  the  piece,  I  put  my  heart  into  my 
employ  and  gave  good  value  for  every  franc  of 
remuneration.  But  at  the  ruling  wage,  even  for 
skilled  workmen,  I  could  not  hope  to  maintain  in 
luxury  a  wife  so  highly  born  as  Isabelle,  and  the 
highest  class  of  work,  the  unmasking  of  con 
spiracies  against  the  King,  usually  rewarded  with 
a  title  and  a  great  sum  of  money,  was  distributed 
by  chance,  and  as  often  as  not  fell  to  the  least 
deserving.  The  morrow,  the  week,  might  bring 
me  such  employ.  But  the  day,  the  instant, 
pressed.  I  was  without  a  sou,  and  Isabelle's 
suggestion  of  breakfast  threw  me  into  a  profound 
melancholy. 

As  we  left  the  villa,  deserted  save  for  the 
stiffening  corpses  on  the  stair,  I  hailed  a  passing 
fiacre  and  bade  the  charioteer  drive  to  the 
nearest  cafe,  promising  him  an  extra  thrust  from 
my  rapier  if  he  made  haste.  In  the  pre 
occupation  induced  by  the  state  of  my  finances 
and  my  solicitude  for  Isabelle,  who  was  sleeping 
soundly  on  my  shoulder,  I  did  not  remark  the 
direction  in  which  we  were  proceeding.  Pre 
sently  the  fiacre  stopped,  and  looking  out  I 
beheld  the  cafe  in  which  I  had  left  the  Duchess. 
An  ambulance  was  backed  up  at  the  curb  and  a 
great  crowd  was  gathered. 
164 


^  fins  Incomparable  dfcemotrs.  y- 

"What  is  wrong,  Alphonse?"  murmured 
Isabelle,  sleepily.  "An  ambuscade?" 

"  Nay,  sweetheart  ;  an  ambulance.  Ho, 
varlet,"  to  the  driver,  "inquire  the  cause  of  this 
blockade." 

The  fellow  departed  on  his  errand  and  re 
turned  with  the  news  that  a  lady  had  dropped 
dead  in  the  cafe,  some  hours  before,  of  heart 
disease. 

"Her  name,  scoundrel!"  I  cried,  a  great 
hope  leaping  within  me.  "Did'st  learn  her 
name  ?  " 

"Otii,  ^rsicnr"  he  replied.  "The  un 
fortunate  lady  was  the  Duchess  des  Pommes  de 
Terre  au  (Ira tin." 


My  tale  is  done.  'T  is  the  story  of  two 
days  in  a  lifetime  of  romance,  much  of  it  his 
torical  —  the  first  volume  of  my  incomparable 
memoirs. 

I  take  leave  of  you  now  as  the  Duke  des 
Pommes  de  Terre  au  Gratin,  husband  of  the  new 
and  beautiful  Duchess  Isabelle,  Chatelaine  of 
Castle  Brochette  —  a  name  that  piques  the  curi 
osity  of  all  France,  which  marvels  whence  and 
why  I  chose  it. 

How  in  one  fleeting  year  I  was  widowed, 
and  careless  of  life  sought  balm  for  my  great - 
167 


^r    /fconsteur  fc'en  JBrocbette.    *<£• 

grief  in  the  wars  the  King  waged  against  all 
Europe  ;  how  I  fought  under  Conde  and  turned 
the  sword  aimed  at  his  heart  in  the  thick  of  the 
conflict  ;  how  in  my  King's  fourth  war  I  under 
took  a  perilous  mission  in  his  behalf  that  led  me 
to  Madrid,  and  how  I  became  the  husband  of 
the  glorious  Inez  of  Arragon, —  these  things, 
M'sieurs,  will  be  found  set  down  in  succeeding 
volumes  of  memoirs,  sold  only  by  subscription. 
Permit  me  to  recommend  the  set  in  half-levant, 
edition  de  luxe,  each  copy  of  which  is  numbered. 
M'sieurs,  I  drink  your  good  health,  and  for 
the  time  —  adieu  ! 

[THE   END.] 


i6S 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

IN  WHICH  APPEAR  Two  PORTRAITS,    PLUS  A  FAMILY 
HEIRLOOM. 

By  Arthur  II.  Fohvell. 

[PAIR  OF  centuries,  plus  several  years, 
glide  swiftly  away. 

"And  is  this  his  picture,  Grand 
pa;    really    and    truly!"    asked    a 
grave-faced  boy  of  a  bent  old  man. 
"Yes,   Brochette,"   the  old   man   responded. 
"This  is  his  picture,  really  and  truly." 

They  were  standing,  these  two,  before  the 
portrait  of  a  Gentleman ;  a  quaint  portrait,  and, 
moreover,  the  portrait  of  an  exceptionally  quaint 
person,  judged  by  modern  standards.  A  plumed 
hat,  wide  of  brim,  sat  jauntily  upon  a  luxuriance 
of  fine  hair,  while  below  the  haughty,  striking 
face  and  its  crisp,  challenging  moustachios  was  a 
ruff  like  a  fluted  grindstone,  which  rested 
proudly,  even  arrogantly,  upon  the  Gentleman's 
broad  shoulders. 

Opposite    this   portrait    there    hung   on    the 
wall    another;     the    portrait    of    a    Lady.      The 
Lady,    also,    wore    a  plumed   hat,   wide  of  brim, 
769 


•^    Monsieur  D'en  $rocbette.    ^ 

and  her  hair,  though  differently  arranged,  was 
quite  as  abundant  as  the  Gentleman's.  Besides, 
and  again  like  her  framed  companion,  she  was 
seen  emerging  from  a  ruff.  The  patrician 
character,  both  of  the  Lady  and  the  Gentleman, 
no  one  who  saw  the  portraits  —  newly  come  fresh 
from  a  skilled  restorer — could  question  for  a 
an  instant. 

"Yes,  Brochette,"  the  old  man  repeated, 
"  this  is  his  portrait,  and  that  is  hers.  They  are 
your  honored  ancestors;  yours  and  mine;  the 
layers  of  our  family's  foundation  in  America." 

The  boy  regarded  them  with  wondering 
respect. 

"I've  heard  it,"  he  said,  "a  great  many 
times,  but  I  can  not  remember,  somehow,  more 
than  half  of  it  now.  Let  me  see.  This  was 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Huevospasadaparagua,  wasn't  it, 
Grandpa  ?  " 

The  old  man  smiled  —  as  who  could  help? 

"  Not  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  Brochette,"  said  he, 
gently  chiding.  "Say  rather,  Huevos  Pasada 
par  Agua,  Count  of  Pate  de  Fois  Gras  and 
Marquis  presumptive  of  the  estates  of  Pollio 
Grill  in  Spain,  and  Isabelle,  his  wife." 

The  old  man,  small  need  to  add,  had  a 
Family  Tree  of  no  mean  girth  —  a  veritable  lord, 
in  fact,  of  the  Forest  Genealogical. 

"And  when  they  came  to  America,"  the 
170 


Ibefrloom. 


little  fellow  continued,  "did  they  come  in  the 
first  cabin,  Grandpa,  with  a  stateroom  way  up 
high  on  the  promenade  deck,  like  the  one  we 
had  last  summer?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  other,  absently.  "Or 
rather,  no.  The  promenade  deck  was  not  for 
those  times,  my  boy.  Our  family's  founder  and 
his  charming  bride  had  a  stateroom,  I  dare  say, 
near  the  stern-post,  with  the  rudder  chains  creak 
ing  and  clanking  near  their  heads.  But  I  do 
not  know;  I  do  not  know,  Brochette.  Your 
Gran'dad.  sir,  is  getting  old  and  forgetful." 

"  But  tell  me.  When  did  Mr.  —  I  mean 
our  family's  founder  —  first  meet  Mrs.  —  I  should 
say,  that  is  —  er  —  our  family's  foundress?" 

"The  beauteous  Isabelle,  no  doubt  you 
mean,  my  boy.  Ah  !"  said  his  grandfather. 
"That  was  what  they  called  her:  The  beauteous 
Isabelle!  She  was  married,  I  believe,  somewhat 
hastily  to  the  Count.  There  are  blanks  in  our 
family  history  which  no  one  now  can  fill,  and 
one  of  them  occurs  unfortunately  at  the  very 
period  of  their  nuptials.  The  elaborate  wedding 
feast  and  ceremony  seem  in  this  case,  to  have 
been  strangely  omitted. 

"The  story  is  told  of  the  Count  and  Isa 
belle  that  they  traveled  in  great  haste  to  Paris 
from  somewhere  or  other  and  thence  to  Calais, 
pursued  for  some  reason,  it  is  said,  by  an  in- 


H?    flfconsteur  fc'en  3Brocbette.    -^ 

furiated  dame.  Who  this  woman  was  and  why 
she  pursued  them,  there  is  no  record  left  to  show. 
I  know  only  of  the  pursuit ;  and  remember 
seeing  in  my  boyhood  an  old  journal  of  the 
Count's,  written  in  French,  wherein  the  strange 
woman's  rage  was  described  with  graphic  humor. 
She  stood,  it  seems,  on  the  dock  at  Calais  and 
shook  her  fist  wildly  at  the  departing  ship, 
screaming  and  ranting  the  while  in  impotent 
fury." 

"How  funny!"  cried  the  boy.  "I  should 
like  to  have  been  there,  grandpa;  would  n't 
you?" 

"On  the  ship,  perhaps,  my  boy,  but  not  on 
the  dock,"  was  the  old  man's  prudent  comment. 

"  Oh,  grandpa,"  then  exclaimed  the  child, 
a  new  thought  striking  him  suddenly,  "haven't 
you  got  in  your  big  cabinet  anything  to  remem 
ber  them  by?  Something  they  left,  you  know." 

"You  have  hit  upon  my  life  puzzle, 
Brochette,"  said  he,  gravely.  "Come." 

Leading  the  way  to  the  lighted  library,  he 
unlocked  a  drawer  and  from  it  withdrew  a  small, 
carved  box.  Within  it  lay  a  tiny  package, 
silken  in  its  wrappings.  The  latter,  outspread, 
disclosed  to  view  a  dry  speck  of  something  — 
something  round  and  hard  like  a  bit  of  baked  clay. 

"And  what  is  it,  Grandpa?"  asked  the  boy, 
wonderingly. 


&  ffamilB  Ibeirloom. 


The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"It  was  his,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the 
Portrait  of  a  Gentleman;  "but  what  it  is  I  can 
not  tell.  This  goes  with  it  —  it  is  his  hand 
writing." 

The  boy  looked  at  the  now  faded  parch 
ment  and  read  hesitatingly  : 

Found  by  Isabella  in  the  pocket  of  my 
best  hose,  five  days  out  of  Calais,  aboard  the 
good  ship,  Mayonnaise.  "T  would  seem  as 
though  I  ne'er  could  lose  it. 

They  laid  the  thing  on  the  library  table  and 
regarded  it  together. 

"Why,  I  tell  you  what  it  looks  like,  Grand 
pa,"  the  boy  said,  laughingly,  "It  looks  just  like 
a  mole  that  came  off-" 

The  old  man  smiled  at  this  flash  of  childish 
fancy. 

[THE  END.] 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

IN  WHICH  OUR  HERO  SEES  His  FINISH 

By  John  Kendrick  Bangs. 

JLAS,  that  I,  Huevos  Pasada  Par  Agua, 
should  have  to  recall  the  dire 
misery  of  that  which  was  to  follow. 
Has  ever  a  gallant  heart  been  called 
upon  to  narrate  such  woeful  hap 
penings  as  now  befell?  I  trow  not;  and  yet,  from 
the  beginning  of  these  Memoirs  to  this,  the  end, 
I  have  swerved  not  from  the  path  of  truth. 
Destiny,  human  destiny,  is  a  thing  that  man  may 
not  evade,  and  here  in  my  last  chapter  must  be 
set  down  the  terrible  story  of  defeat  at  the 
moment  of  triumph  —  yet  what  a  happy  death  — 
but  I  anticipate. 

It  was  into  a  cold  gray  dawn  that  Isabelle 
and  I,  our  enemies,  the  hireling  swashbucklers  of 
an  unidentified  foe,  laid  low  in  death,  now  es 
caped.  The  garden  was  deserted,  save  by  an 
occasional  tree-toad  who  sent  up  his  melancholy 
song  to  greet  the  dawning  day,  and  no  impedi 
ment  to  a  happy  ending  to  the  troublous  court 
ship  of  my  love  seemed  to  intervene  —  but  who 
can  tell  what  the  future  hath  in  store  !  Stand- 


•^    ©ur  1bero  Sees  1fote  jfinieb.    ^ 

ing  on  the  brink  of  happiness,  the  next  moment 
my  beloved  companion  and  I  were  hurled  into 
eternity. 

With  the  fleet  foot  of  the  hind  we  sped 
down  the  path,  to  the  gate  issuing  upon  the 
highway  to  Paris  and  the  nuptial  hour,  when 
suddenly  with  a  crackling  sound  and  a  sudden 
crash  the  ground  gave  way  beneath  our  feet,  and 
ere  we  knew  what  had  come  about,  the  fair  lady 
and  I  had  fallen  into  a  deep  pit  half  filled  with 
water  whose  depth  went  down  and  down  and 
down  into  the  abysmal  bowels  of  the  earth. 

"Help,  my  Huevos!"  came  the  startled 
cry  from  Isabelle  as  she  sank  into  the  turgid 
waters.  "I  am  sink — 

The  appeal  was  never  finished,  a  mere 
gurgle  blotting  out  forever  that  beloved  voice. 

Frenzied  with  my  impotence  to  help  her  I 
too  went  under,  and,  foregad,  it  seemed  as 
though  I  ne'er  should  rise  again.  But  my 
moment  was  not  yet  come,  for  with  a  few  strokes 
of  my  arms,  and  kicks  with  my  heels,  I  came 
again  to  the  scum-covered  surface  of  the  pool, 
where  I  called  right  lustily  for  help.  A  mocking 
laugh  was  the  sole  answer,  and  I  was  thrust 
under  by  a  garden  rake  in  the  hands  of  one 
whom  through  the  growing  light  of  day  I  per 
ceived  to  be  none  other  than  the  deserted  true 
Duchess  of  Pommes  de  Terre. 

175 


"V    dfeoneteur  j>*en  JBrocbette.    -^ 

"By  the  sacred  tooth  of  Navarre,"  I 
gurgled  as  I  went  down  the  second  time,  "if 
Isabelle  and  I  unwed  must  rest  our  bones  forever 
at  the  bottom  of  this  slimy  pool,  no  future  age 
shall  make  scandal  of  the  fact,  for  we  shall  not 
go  to  death  unchaperoned." 

With  which,  reaching  upward,  I  seized  the 
rake's  end  and  with  one  dexterous  jerk  pulled  the 
unwieldly  Duchess  herself  into  the  pit,  shrieking 
and  imploring  Heaven  to  save  her  to  the  end. 

Again,  because  of  this  movement,  I  rose  to 
the  surface,  perceiving  the  Duchess  floundering 
down  past  me,  as  sputtering  I  once  more 
breathed,  my  head  well  above  the  waters.  But, 
alas,  no  more  breath  was  left  me  to  call  again  for 
help,  and  for  the  third  and  last  time  I  sank  — 
down,  down,  down  into  the  depths  never  to  rise 
again,  but  to  rest  through  all  eternity  by  the  side 
of  my  heart's  best  treasure,  my  Isabelle. 

A  dreadful  end  in  truth;  but  what  could  be 
happier  than  that  cool  grot,  far  removed  from  the 
turmoil  of  life,  beside  the  form  of  her  I  loved  so 
true,  there  to  lie  until  that  last  dread  day  when 
all  are  summoned  before  the  judgment  seat  ?  A 
kindly  fate  let  my  now  lifeless  corpse  down  to 
the  spot  where  that  of  Isabelle  lay  still  and 
strangely  beautiful,  and  then  —  the  end.  I  was 
no  more  !  The  Duchess  caught  some  twenty 
feet  under  upon  a  shelving  rock,  so  that  no  dis- 

176 


/  pulled  the  unwieldy  Duchess  herself  into  the  pit. 


177 


^    ©ur  1bero  Sees  1t»i0  jfinisb.    V 

cordant  intrusion  on  our  death-embrace  was  ever 
to  be  feared. 


Gentle  reader,  't  was  two  hundred  years 
before  our  bleaching  bones  were  found  by 
dredgers  clearing  away  the  pool.  By  them  the 
romance  of  our  days  was  well  respected,  for  in 
stead  of  parting  us,  as  well  they  might  have 
done,  our  bones  were  tenderly  placed  elsewhere, 
and  together;  and  that  is  why  you,  in  passing 
through  the  Convent  yard  of  Mere  la  Chaise, 
will  see  to-day  one  small  mound  marked  by  a 
simple  stone  upon  which  are  inscribed  the  words : 


LES  AMANTS  INCONNUS 
FOUND  DROWNED. 


It  is  the  grave,  dear  reader,  of  the  lovely 
Isabelle  and  myself,  Robert  Gaston  de  Launay 
Alphonse,  Marquis  of  Pate  de  Foie  Gras  and 
Heir  Presumptive  to  the  Estate  of  Huevos 
Pasada  par  Agua  in  old  Castile. 

[THE  END.] 


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